The Right to Live
by amacma
Summary: After S9/LAD: Jack is imprisoned, thinking about his life, and above all, about Audrey. Will he find a reason to endure it all? He would do anything to save her. Dark Sequel to Live Another Day. Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
1. Право на жизнь

Право на жизнь

.

.

.

As the hit came, I took it, waiting for more.  
It was the 22nd today, and the 42nd day. Counting them was the only occupation I still had, aside of watching my own blood drip to the floor and form red patterns on the tiles, another weird pattern every day.

I didn't even fight back. Thinking back to the last time when this had happened to me, I remember that I had fought back then. I had taken every chance to pay the men back what they were doing to me.  
But not now. Had I become wiser? Or just older and tired?  
It was a welcome refreshment that they seemed to lose their interest in me, when I didn't fight back. Some of the things they did, I realized, they were only doing them to _make me_ fight back, so they'd have a reason to be even more brutal.  
But I wouldn't give them that pleasure. Not this time. Whatever they'd do, whatever tools they'd use or how much they'd humiliate me. It was strange, but I realized that I didn't care about that any more, not about my life and above all, not about my body, which got weaker, skinnier and bloodier every other day that I spent here.

I still felt the pain. Not when the hits went down on me, but in between them, when the tension of waiting for the next hit wasn't already overshadowing the pain from the last one.  
Why should I care?

The longer I watched the red patterns on the floor, the clearer it got to me: I deserved this. I deserve to be treated like this.  
In no possible way can I think of an excuse for all the things that I did in my life. All the other lives that I took… must be a few hundred, over the years. Unthinkable. That a single man kills a few hundred people and can still sleep every night. What a monster.

At least can't I sleep now. I lie awake every night, thinking. Most of the times I'm not even tired. Well, there is nothing that I can do, I don't get to exercise, being locked up in a 20 square feet cell all day, there's nothing that makes me tired enough to be able to sleep – aside of the torture.  
But the pain that it brings, the one that stays, all day, even after they are finished, the one that stays through the night… it keeps me awake. I can't sleep. I just can't. I keep staring at the cold stone walls around me. How much blood of others is already on these walls? Must be a lot, I'm sure that nobody makes it aroung here very long. There's no way of surviving their torture for more than a few months maybe. This house looks like it is two hundred years old. There must be a lot of blood of others on these walls around me. I hope it's the blood of men like me- real monsters- and not the blood of innocent ones who shouldn't have ever come here.

How many innocent ones did I kill?  
I don't even know, I have to admit. There must have been collateral damage, I'm sure. Ryan. Paul. My god, I don't even want to think back. This is worse than torture, thinking of Audrey, as she screamed and shouted, when I killed the man she had once loved.  
She called me a monster.  
Probably that was the only moment in all our time together that she saw me in the true light of what I really was.

I feel the cold shower on my back. I'm cold through and through, anyway. But thinking back to what I have done throughout my life makes me shudder. I am a monster. I deserve to be here.

As much as I try to push the thoughts of her out of my mind – just because I can't cope with the thought of her, being dead, I grab the tiny stone again that lies next to me.  
I found it, a few days ago – a small stone that lay on the unpaved surface of the room in which I spent most of my recent life - and I started to scratch her name into the stone walls. It took me days to write it, letter by letter. In the end, my fingers were bleeding because that stone was way too small, but at least I can read her name when l lay down.

When I stare at the letters I get reminded of all things I lost. She was the last thing, the one that broke me.  
I would have never exchanged myself for Chloe, if Audrey had still been alive. God, what an asshole am I? Am I really thinking of letting my best friend down just because I would have had a possible prospect on a 'normal life'? That's nonsense. Wake up, you never had a chance on a life with Audrey, not one second, not even after her second marriage failed and not even after Heller pardoned you, you fool! Not even if she hadn't been shot!  
But when I read her name, I have to hold on to that dream, for just one second, to make me feel better. If she hadn't died… if I had been there for her, instead of trusting someone else with it… if I hadn't spent my time fighting for some useless national security stuff… What would have happened? If I could have saved her from Cheng's men? Probably they'd have shot me. That would have been okay. What if I had survived?

It's almost like I see her now, standing there, looking at me. We're looking into each other's eyes again, like last time I was with her. She didn't hold anything against me. She had forgiven me everything that I had ever done to her- killing Paul, faking my death that left her shattered, leaving her when she had actually needed me, after coming home from her ordeal that she only had because of me.  
When she looked into my eyes, there was nothing, no regret, no accuse. They were… I can't find any words to describe it. She forgave me. Why? Why did she forgive me for all things that I did? When even I can't forgive myself?

Well, it took me long to start crying tonight. Normally I just have to look at her name.  
I'll be alone in here for the next few hours, there are no cameras anyway in this old building, so why care? It doesn't matter. I gave up hiding how bad my status was. A few years ago, last time, I never let it show how bad my condition really was. I wouldn't let them see me cry or lick my wounds.  
But now, I don't care. It's different now. I must have grown older, I guess.  
I'm not fighting them back.

Two weeks ago, they put me in front of something worth being called a court. Actually, I had thought of two options, when they got me: that they'd put me in a hidden prison somewhere, denying that they even had me, or that they'd publicly sentence me to death for having murdered one of their ministers, four years ago.  
But neither happened. They just put me in front of a court, it was a tiny room, old fashioned, there were a few spectators but nobody made any pictures or seemed to be interested in the case.  
I guess they did it while I was still in a shape to be put in this cage, which was so typical for their court rooms, being able to sit there without cringing of pain or looking like just coming out of severe torture. Back then I must have really looked better than I do now.

I didn't understand one word the judge said. Not one single word. At the end, somebody came to my cage and asked me something – I didn't understand it either. Then the one repeated it in English, asking me if I had anything to say in mitigation. What a great joke. I didn't even know what I was charged with.  
So I said nothing. I stayed silent, I didn't even nod my head or shake it. Not once.

In the end, they brought me away again, and I still don't know what the judge's last words were, but they could mean nothing good. Was this even a regular court? Or was it some kind of a military court?  
I hoped it was the latter and I still do now. I know that their regular courts can't sentence me to death any more, but the military ones still could. Death would be a good solution. It would end all the pain and the suffering, it would put an end to a life which should have never happened in the way it did.

I still don't know what kind of court it was.  
I still don't know what I had been sentenced with. Will I ever know?  
Fourteen days have passed since then. Were they waiting for me to appeal against the decision? Just so they could say in the end that they did wait the appropriate amount of time until finalizing the sentence? Just tell me how to perempt and I will!

It is awful to lie here like this, having nothing to do and so much time to think. The pain from the wounds all over my body doesn't really make it better. It just shows me how my life will continue if this – in the end – was no death sentence.  
Maybe the judge decided that I should continue to suffer, for the rest of my life. Maybe his words, the ones that I hadn't understood, meant that they should go easy on me, making me survive for as long as possible, to give me hell for the things that I did to some of their people.

Damnit, the death sentence was too good to be true. I didn't even deserve their bullet. I deserved something worse than death, something that would pay me back for all the things I did to others, for all the kills and the times that _I_ tortured, standing on the other side.  
If the judge was a good one, then he'd look into the case and see that simply killing me would be too easy. If he wanted to bring justice to this world, then he must give the world a chance to do to me the same things that I did to it.

I don't have a watch now. Probably it's not even midnight now. My thoughts will keep circling like this for like eight other hours, until they push some food into the cell, give me twenty minutes to hurry eating it without any chance to enjoy it and then drag me along to the bathroom, hosing me down with ice cold water and then putting me back into the cell, making me wait for the moment they'd come to continue their other 'procedures'.

There is a little light that comes in through the metal bars overhead the door. The cell doesn't have a window to the outside, but a connection to the main hallway. I'm not alone, here. There are others as well, in other cells, some are screaming of pain, some are just screaming because they probably cracked up. I am not yet one of them, but who knows, probably I will be one of them, too, in a few weeks or months, when it all becomes too much to lie here silently and think about my mistakes. Maybe I'll start screaming out loud as well?

The light coming in from the hallway is just enough to see the name that I scratched into the wall, next to my face. Audrey.

 _I'm coming to you, one day,_ I murmur, stretching out my hand to touch the letters. It's just a cold stone, which I touch, but that's the next best thing to her that I have right now.

But then, always, the sudden realization comes. She is in heaven, for sure. And If died now, I could only end up in hell. I'm not ever gonna see her again. Not in this life and not in the next.  
I lie in the darkness, listening to the occasional screams of the others. We are all here to atone for the things we've done. Maybe, if I stay here long enough, if I suffer long enough, if they treat me harsh enough… maybe then I could be delivered from the things I've done.

Right in this moment I hope it was no death sentence what the judge gave me… I know already, that in twelve hours I'll think differently, when I'm lying on their table or hanging from their chains again. But tomorrow night, when I'll be back here, looking at her name, I'll change my mind again, hoping that I'll get the chance to pay for my sins, no matter how painful and how many days it takes.

I want to pay, I really do, because I know that I have to.

Because I want to see you in heaven, Audrey. One day.

.

.

.


	2. справедливое разбирательство

справедливое разбирательство

.

.

.

Three more weeks passed, in which nothing happened. How long could the time frame be, in which they were waiting for my appeal against the court's decision? Four weeks? Six weeks? Two months? Five weeks had passed already since the trial and nothing had happened, except for the guards to take me out of my cell, almost every day, to let somebody beat me or waterboard me.  
It was a meaningless procedure, since they didn't even care to ask any questions. They knew that I've been out of active government service for years, and that I simply don't have any vital information. But still, that didn't keep them from torturing me. Every other day, different guys were doing it. They seemed to have their fun.

I still wonder what the judge had decided. Not once has somebody talked to me about it. And I also didn't ask. Why not? Was I afraid of the answer, of getting it confirmed that I was only here to wait for the execution of their death sentence? Or afraid of hearing that there was no death sentence and I'd be living like this for the rest of my days, like an animal, trapped in a tiny cage? I can't even say which option I am more afraid of.

Whenever I hear the footsteps approach, I always hope that they don't come to me.  
But again, I get disappointed, when they stop right outside the door of my cell. My muscles tense, when I hear the lock being opened. I try to sit up, but yesterdays beatings left some traces. My right side hurts so much that I can't even get up on my own.  
So I just remain lying at the ground, watching them come in. They are telling me to get up, unmistakably, even though I don't understand a word of what they are saying. The two guards are here, the ones that are around here most of the time - plus one more today. Usually, they aren't the ones who beat me up or do anything else. They are just usual prison guards, now, expecting me to get up which I obviously can't.

For another few seconds, the guy watches me try, but then he bows down, puts a cuff around my right arm, grabs my shirt and roughly pulls me up. I have a hard time standing on my feet, as they chain my hands behind my back and even my ankles. Two of them are holding my arms, so I can't fall.

Something is different today. Usually there are two guards, not three.

As they are putting a black hood over my head before walking me out of the cell, the thought finally gets me: This could be my execution. The last time ever that they lead me out of this cell.

We're walking down the hallway, this time we don't turn right, but left. They are leading me downstairs, two floors, I realize. I keep counting the steps.  
I don't know if I should be happy about this or not. The final end to all the suffering. But then again, I learned to cling to life, like a selfish boy. Every other night I have lain in my cell, staring at Audrey's name on the wall and hoped that I'd get the chance to stay here long enough to atone for my sins, to see her in heaven. 9 weeks of being here, 9 weeks of torture were not enough, by far.  
What would these guys say if I fell to my knees in front of them, begging them to keep me alive and not kill me, begging them to keep torturing me? Probably they'd think I'd gone crazy. Or, that I was still hoping to stay alive for long enough so I could flee.

But I couldn't flee anyway. Ever since a few weeks, my body just wasn't up to it any more. I've become way too weak- I can't even walk alone any more, without their support. Today I wasn't even able to get up from the floor.  
I've lost a lot of weight in the past weeks. Whenever I looked down on myself I could see my ribs clearly, through my skin.  
They feed me, but just enough to stay alive. Maybe, the guards know what kind of a danger I could be for them, if I was still in the right shape for it. I guess they didn't want to take any chances and they were the ones who cut my rations to half or decided to give me nothing at all, even though I should have gotten something to eat.

We stop walking and I hear how they're opening up a door. This is it, this must be it. They lead me inside, and even through the black fabric, I can see that quite a few spotlights must be directed at me. It's bright in here.

They force me to my knees, and one of the guards fixes the chains between my ankles and wrists to a hook which seems to be mounted in the floor.

I can hear voices, but I don't understand one word they are saying. They rip the hood off my head and I try to look around, but aside of the spotlights, I can hardly see anything. One of the guards is still standing next to me, having an eye on me. The others are talking now.

Strange, they usually weren't talking. I guess I haven't even heard the voice of the tiny one up to now.

They are talking to people who are standing behind the spotlights. Judging from the different voices, there must be many people there. I count at least seven different voices, but slowly I'm beginning to see a few contours of persons. There must be ten to twenty. They don't look like government or military. Who the hell are they? Why are the guards, who were so silent all the time, talking to them? About what?

That was the moment when I realized that this wasn't the day of my execution.  
The guards were talking to the crowd, and every other few moments I heard the words _sto tysyach_. One hundred thousand. _Dvesti tysyach-_ two hundred thousand. _Pyatsot tysyach._ Five hundred thousand. They were bidding. _Dva milliona._ Two millions. Unmistakably. They were bidding, but I didn't know what they were gathering bids for. For my head? Who were the people, willing to pay such sums, and for what?

Like all the time, my thoughts kept revolving around the same thing: should I be sad or glad that they hadn't brought me to my execution?  
Were they selling me, or my head?

I could only kneel there, in the spotlight, waiting for what would happen. Twenty people were standing behind the spotlights, willing to pay to get me into their hands. It was the most frightening experience I ever made, I guess. I couldn't see their faces. I didn't know what they were talking, except for the numbers that they were bidding.  
The guards seemed contented with the numbers. The fat guy next to me was smiling by now - his face had started to light up when they reached four million of whatever. I didn't hear the word _dollars_ so it must be _rouble,_ I guess. How much am I worth?

There seem to be a few bidders, willing to pay high prices. They are laughing, I see that some others are pulling back. In the end, only three are left.

And suddenly, the fat guard puts the black hood over my head again and they switch off the spotlights. I guess that they didn't want me to see the bidders.

 _Desyat millionov._ Ten million rouble. That's the last thing I understand - that must be what me head is worth.  
They keep talking and I keep listening, but I can't understand anything else than the numbers.

A few minutes later, somebody unties my cuffs from the shackles at the floor. Somebody orders me to get up - in English! It's a voice I've never heard before. It sounds harsh. It has a foreign accent, but not a Russian one. While I am still trying to figure out what accent it was, they're pushing me out of the room, down the hallway again. These are different people, not the guards that I was used to. The guards were normal prison guards. They treated me with at least some kind of respect and human dignity, although they were making me starve and brought me to my tormentors each other day.

But these hands that were now around my upper arms, dragging me along, they were different.  
I could feel the hate that these people had, hate against me, that they could hardly hold back, that they could hardly abstain from killing me right away.

Some more doors opened and the cold October wind made me freeze. But not for long.

They shoved me forward, into something. I couldn't see anything so I stumbled and fell. That didn't seem to bother them.

I found myself lying on a cold, wooden floor. Doors get locked behind me and the voices disappear. I must be in some kind of a vehicle, because I can feel that the room that I'm in starts moving.  
My hands are still bound behind my back, but the chain in between the cuffs is quite long. Even though it takes me quite some effort, I manage to get my hands to the front and pull the black hood off. No difference. It's so dark in here that I can't even see my own hands. Where are they taking me? To my execution?

I guess took me hours, in the end, hours of crawling around in this room, groping around in the dark to find out where I was: in a sea container. The walls were so typical, made of steel in that unmistakable pattern. I was being shipped - whoever these people were: they had bought me.

.

.


	3. Запрещение пыток

Запрещение пыток

.

.

I never thought that I'd say this - but I missed Russia, in the second the travel started. I missed the Russian prison, because it had almost been heaven, compared to that place. Well, I didn't say it anyway, because nobody talked to me.

During the time in the sea container, I totally lost track of the days and the weeks. First, they travelled, having the container on a truck, driving through the cold Russian October, to a harbor. I don't know which one. I didn't even know in what prison I had been kept and sentenced. At first I had thought that it could be somewhere close to St. Petersburg, but the truck travelled for almost two days until reaching the harbor. It must have been somewhere inland.  
I could do nothing but sit in a corner, hugging my legs because of the cold. Nothing isolated me from the outside - except for three millimeters of sheet metal.

They didn't open the container one single time, throughout the travel. It was so dark in there that I could only grope for the things around me- in one corner of the room I found a plastic bottle with some mineral water in it. But that was all that was in here. For two days of travel. No blanket, no bed, not even clothes that would have been appropriate for these temperatures. No food.

I tried to sleep, to fight the hunger.  
But I couldn't sleep. The trailer on which the container was jolted and swang, as the truck kept travelling over the rough roads. I just sat in one of the corners, trying to fight the cold and the hunger. My hands were still tied with these cuffs, and my ankles, too. Nobody cared to take these things off me, even though I was locked up in here.

I missed the Russian prison already, even though I wasn't even out of the country yet - because I knew that it would only get worse, being in the hands of whoever had bought me.

I was right.

After the container was loaded onto a ship, I saw my new tormentors for the first time: Africans. A group of blacks were standing there, when they opened up the container's doors to look at me. Machine guns hung around their necks, obviously telling me: don't even try to escape or do anything.

Even now, three months later, I can still hear him say: _you will beg me to kill you, Bauer.  
_ He knew my name. Of course he knew my name: he had bought me. As he spoke to me, I could finally tell, which accent they were speaking: Sengalan. I knew it in that very second, that this was part of some kind of a plan for vengeance. I have enemies, in the whole world, wherever I go. I can't go home, I can't hide anywhere else. I made the whole world hate me, I realize.

He didn't have to say anything else.  
He proved it to me, that he meant these words. Not when I was still on the ship, but thereafter.

Travelling in Russia, I had fought the cold. Then, I fought the heat. The container was dark on the outside, and we travelled for three days on a trailer, again, in the blazing sun. The roads here were far worse than the ones in Russia. Back there, I had sat in a corner, shivering from the cold. In Africa, I was lying in the middle of the tiny room, feeling like I had no air left to breathe. It was so hot and humid in here that I felt like I was suffocating, three whole days. And the water that they gave me was of such bad quality that it only made me sick.

Knowing that it would become even worse when we'd reach our destination was the worst thing of all.

With closed eyes, I am lying at the examination table now, hearing the person who obviously was the doctor speak with the guards. He sounded angry somehow, but they managed to calm him down. My hands and my legs are tied to the table, but I couldn't have moved them anyway, not even one inch. I'm so glad to be here.

I know now how it is to be trapped in the middle of an African terrorist camp, when they have the one and only order not to kill me, but to give me hell.

Beatings.  
Being left out in the blazing sun with no clothes on and no place to hide.  
Getting food where you don't know if it's better to starve to death or eat it.

After only a week, I already begged him to kill me, just like he had prophesized on the ship. But he didn't kill me, even though I was down to a picture of misery. The sun had burned my skin so badly that it wept, after the slightest touch. A thousand different bugs seemed to enjoy me.

Finally, they brought me inside, when they realized that I'd die if they kept me out there for one more day. They left me alone for a few days, but I kept begging him to kill me. I still remembered the thoughts which I had had in my tiny cell in Russia: I should repent for my sins, I should be glad to be treated like this... bullshit. I just couldn't take no more. No matter if I'd end up in hell or not, I begged him to put an end to this. Fuck seeing Audrey again. Fuck heaven. I hated every other breath that I had to take. But whenever I told myself not to breathe any more, my body automatically did it. Bad reflex. I just wanted it to end. Make it be over. But he didn't end it.

Instead, he put me into a pit, with all of them watching. I remember lying there, not able to move, looking into a hundred black faces which were all gathered around the pit. The cheered, and I didn't even know why. Were they about to bury me alive? Could be, even though the pit was a bit large for a grave.  
A few minutes later I realized why they all cheered, as the Scorpios came.

I rip my eyes open. Don't think back. Don't! You're not there any more! You're back in Russia! You're safe!  
Slowly I'm beginning to understand this wicked game, seeing the three prison guards talk to the prison doctor. They give him a large pile of bills, and that finally makes him relax somehow. The money calms his anger, and even the face of the guards lights up again.

Now I realize that they hadn't sold me to the Sengalans: they had lent me to them.  
I also realize now why it had always been different people, torturing me here, in this prison, before the Sengalans took me away: these guards were behind all this. People had paid _them_ to get me into their hands. And the only limits seemed to be my death and hurts of which I wouldn't recover. I guess the Russian government wasn't even interested in me any more- aside of keeping me locked up. People paid these guards to make them look away for a few hours, or even for a few weeks. As long as they report to their superiors, that I am still alive and locked up, I am truly and utterly at their mercy.

The doctor comes back over to me, checking on the IV in my arm. I don't know what he's giving me, but I feel okay now. For the first time in months. Probably he gave me some painkillers. I desperately needed some.

I guess it were three months, in which I was away. I am skinnier than ever before in my life. I've seen pictures of jews in Nazi concentration camps, the ones who had barely survived until being freed. They had all been in a cadaverous state. When I look down on myself I don't see much difference.  
I haven't been able to get up onto my feet, for over two months. After the scorpions, the Africans tried to cocker me up again somehow, but they failed miserably. I don't even know how I survived the travel back here, in the container again.  
Even the guards look worried, when they see me like this. They know that they've gone too far, by giving me away to the Sengalans without any rules and anyone watching. I just hope that they learned something out of this: not let get it that far, in the future. They have to dial it down a notch if they want me to survive. I guess they'd get a lot of trouble, if their superiors ever found out what they were doing, or if they had to tell them one day, that I died in the hands of somebody else.

The painkillers make me tired. I'm falling asleep right here and now, and my only hope is not to get another nightmare.

My wish never gets fulfilled.

The only nights in which I don't have any nightmares are the ones directly after being tortured. But now, as my life has somehow turned better again, my brain constantly keeps reminding me of how bad it could be. I feel the legs of the Scorpios, as they crawl all over me. I try not to move, not to give them any reason to sting me. But they nevertheless do. And then the pain... their poison...

I almost scream as I wake up again. I could have been only half an hour, in which I slept. I find myself on the examination table again, just like before, the guards are gone, but the doctor is still here. He doesn't look like he's my enemy.  
If he's a doctor, he must be erudite person, one who speaks English, probably. When he looks over, at me, again, I ask him where I am. I can't even believe how strange my voice sounds. I probably haven't spoken one word in weeks, and I haven't even realized that until now.

 _в России_ , he answers.

In Russia. I understand that, at least.  
I'm desperate to keep talking to him, it's my only chance to talk to somebody at all. The prison guards don't speak a word of English and I've not been in contact with anyone else, ever since I was brought out of the court room. "Are you a doctor?"

 _да._ He comes over to me. He understands what I say, even though he answers in Russian. He knows my language.  
I have to know now - this is the only chance I'll get: "Do I get the death penalty?", I ask him.

He stands next to me, looking down. I can't tell it what the simmer in his eyes wants to tell me. Is it empathy? A flicker of a rest of goodness, which is usually needed to decide to do this job?

"You were sentenced to full life in prison.", he finally answers in English, with a heavy Russian accent.  
Right after he said it, he's looking around, over his shoulders, as if he was making sure that nobody heard it. I guess he's not supposed to talk to me.

I wonder if I should beg him to make an end to my life. For sure, he has all the things which are needed for that. I fear that I'll never get to my feet again. I've hardly been able to walk without assistance, before they auctioned me. Now, three months later, I'm not even able to sit up.  
There were three bidders in that auction, three!  
I guess that doctor will only patch me up again and then everything will be repeated.

He really does.  
He does his work very well.

One week later, they move me from the medical ward back to my cell. I guess they are afraid of me. I gathered a little bit of strength again, enough that I have to be put behind solid walls again.  
I'm not gonna let it show how well I am. I'm acting like I can't walk on my own but I am sure that I could, if I had to. I could at least crawl.

It's _my_ old cell. They kept it for me. Well... I guess the superiors of that prison always thought I was in there, throughout the past months. No wonder.

This time, there's even a little mattress and a few blankets in there.  
The guards are getting nicer. They know that they have to treat me better to keep making money out of me.  
I even find a paper plate with food next to the mattress, good things, and nobody comes along twenty minutes later, taking the plate away again.

After they close the door, I dare to turn around to the wall, searching for the letters which I left there. AUDREY. It's still here. These letters have waited for me.  
I stretch out my hand to touch them and right now, I can only apologize. _I'm so sorry, Audrey,_ I murmur, I really am. In the nights in which I scratched her name into the wall, I had been praying all the time. I had prayed that I'd get the chance to live, to be tortured, to repent for my sins. What a stupid prayer. And it even got fulfilled! I got the chance to repent, I got the chance to pay!  
But instead of being happy about it, I had begged that Sengalan to kill me.  
I can't pay for all my sins, Audrey, I can't. I'm not strong enough. I brought so much evil to this world that it will take years until I feel I paid enough. I can't stand this. I'm gonna beg them again to kill me, I know that already. They're gonna ship me again, to some place, I'm sure.

If I could only hold on to these letters. If I could only beg these guards not to sell me out again. I could easily settle for a whole life here, in this room, on these 20 square feet. Probably I'd go crazy within a few months or years.  
But the simple thought of being brought away again, to a place like Sengala, being given into the hands of people who want revenge on me, it was unbearable.

 _I am failing you again, Audrey,_ I murmur, running my hand over her name. _I should be glad to pay, to see you again in heaven, but I'm not strong enough to pay for everything I've done._

 _You are._ She's looking at me. Slowly she stretches out her hand and lays it on my shoulder. I can feel her touch, the first touch of a human being in months, not directed at hurting me.  
This is so surreal. I want to take her hand into mine, I want to kiss her. But this is just a dream, an illusion which I am afraid to destroy, so I keep lying there, immovably, just looking at her. I tell her to stay, and she says she will.  
She's there, instead of the letters on the wall there's her face.  
She stays with me until I fall asleep.

.

.


	4. недосчитываться

I am going crazy. I know that I am. All the others who are here are going crazy, too. I hear them scream, during the day, and throughout the night. I've never seen anyone of the other prisoners. But there must be at least ten others, in cells which are right next to mine, down the hallway.  
They aren't screaming of pain, at least most of them. I know how a painful cry sounds like. They are shouting out loud because they're losing their sanity, and I can really understand this. It's hard to stay sane, in such a small cell, with no prospect of freedom, no prospect of being released, no human contact, nobody to talk to, not even enough space to stand up and walk around. We're being kept like animals.

No- even worse. I'm sure that in most states, people aren't even allowed to keep animals under such bad conditions.

The last time that I've seen daylight... must have been in Sengala. Thereafter, they put me in that sea container again and I ended up here. It's impossible to tell, if it is day or night.

I've been lying in my cell for almost three weeks now, ever since the doctor had said that I was well enough again to be moved here. I've got at least a bit of my former strength back. A week ago, I was able to stand up again, for the first time in months. I didn't let the guards notice that. Whenever they came, I acted like I was hardly able to sit up. The sooner they see me in a better shape again, the sooner they're gonna give me away again, to somebody who's already on the list of people, willing to pay, to get their revenge on me.

I'm trying to get back into shape, and sometimes I don't even know why I'm doing it all.

Maybe to kill time. I can either do something or just lie there. I'm tired of lying there.

Maybe I do it to be able to survive it, when they're gonna let others lay their hands on me again. There were three successful bidders in their auction. I have no illusions that my ordeal could already be over - it isn't, for sure.  
That's good - because I'll get the chance to pay, just like I wanted to. I still damn myself for having begged that Sengalan to kill me. I should have to been strong enough to endure it. I have to pay for my sins. Throughout the past years, I've already had much time to think about life and death and every second that I've spent thinking about it, it got clearer to my that I have sinned more than anyone could imagine. I haven't lived a good life. No matter how many people have tried to tell me that most of the things I did had been justified- deep down, I know that they're not right.  
The end doesn't justify the means.  
I can't even count the times that I've tortured others. Must be a countless number of times. I've gone all the way, just to get information. I didn't care about them one single second. I didn't give them any chance to prove to me that they're innocent or don't even know anything at all. In my mind, I had already convicted them.

Graem was one of them. I killed my own brother. Lately, he's been on my mind quite a few times. I was willing to go to limit and beyond, I didn't care about him, his family, his son, his rights, his probably innocence, not for one second.  
Just like the people who'll get their hands on me. They will make me pay. I should be thankful for it. This is my chance to pay for my sins- in this life, so I won't have to pay in the next one.

A few weeks ago, the hurt stopped, even without painkillers. All the superficial wounds which I carried home from that stay in Sengala, they were healed by then. I don't wanna look down on myself, I don't even want to see how I look like. I feel that there must be quite a few more scars, especially on my shoulders and on my arms. They don't make much of a difference, the way my body looks like, already.  
A few days thereafter, I started to exercise a little again, to get back some strength. It was hard in the beginning, I wasn't even able to do one single pushup. By now, eight days later, I'm at ten- still far away from the seventy which were no problem at all, before this all started.

I'm out of breath now. That little exercise cost me all the power I had. But that's okay- I'll just wait for an hour and then I can do a little more.

Lying there, I turn to the wall, to read her name again. AUDREY. The letters are staring at me, and I'm staring at them.

This is why I know I'm going crazy: I can _see_ her. It doesn't even take me more than a few minutes, to see her face, instead of the letters on the wall. I can _talk_ to her.

She's not real, I know. But I'm not even fighting it. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Is it drifting away from reality, into some kind of a dream world, a world of memories and thoughts, since I'm locked up in a 20 square feet cell with nothing to do?  
I've been on my own for too long. I haven't had any real kind of human contact in five or six months, I guess. The few people who were here to torture me- they didn't even ask questions. They just watched me suffer. This doesn't count as a real human contact.

I guess my mind isn't playing tricks on me. It's trying to give me something to hold on to, just like in China.

God, I know that she's not here. She's six feet under, at the other side of the globe. I've seen the coffin, I've looked into Heller's eyes, standing there, next to it. I had a hard time to bite back the tears.  
When he asked me, if I wanted to see her one last time - he would have even opened up the casked for me - I declined. This wasn't how I wanted to keep her in my memory... that beautiful face, lying there, in the casket. I still have that picture in my mind, of seeing Teri lie there like this. I didn't want to see such a picture again, not one of Audrey, too. I wanted to keep her in my memory, like I've always known her.

That's how I see her, now. Happy... a little smile on her face. That picture of hers, it's not real but it's all I have.  
In the beginning, I sometimes told myself that this is not real - and as soon as I did that, the picture disappeared. Then, I told her, that she is not real, and the picture disappeared. I don't tell her that any more. I don't tell that myself any more, that she's probably not real.  
When she's there, I just tell her hello and try to smile back.

She stretches out her arm and softly lays her hand on my shoulder, telling me that everything's alright, that she'll stay by my side. And I tell her that I love her and close my eyes, treasuring the thought.

I must have really fallen asleep.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway wakes me up again. Like every other time, I hope that they pass my cell and take somebody else. They've already brought me something to eat a few hours ago, so there's no good thing left to expect if they really come to me.

But they come to me.

I know that the period of grace is over now. All three of them are here, with cuffs for my hands and my feet, and the black hood that they put over my head already the last time, when they brought me away.

I have to face it: I'm going back to hell. Am I ready for it? Hell no.

I turn back to the wall, but there are just the letters.

She's not here, when others are here. She's only here when I'm alone with her.

As the guards cuff my legs and my hands and tear me out of my cell, I try to look back for a last time, before they put the black hood over my head.  
But I don't get the chance to tell her good-bye before I leave.

They bring me away again. I still remember the way they took last time: two floors down, three turns to the left, a long corridor and then there was an exit to the outside. They take the same way now and push me into some holding cell.

Just like last time, I stumble and fall, realizing that I'm lying on a wooden floor again - it smells like it's the same sea container that I've already been in.  
Laboriously, I manage to bring my hands to the front and pull the hood off again.

They've already closed the doors and locked them. The travel starts.

I lie there in the darkness, hoping to see Audrey. That picture of hers is a product of my mind - why can't I see her now? Why only in my cell, and not here, not whenever I want to see her?

I don't have anything in here, what I could write her name with. I can't carve the letters into the walls made of sheet metal. It's so dark in here that I can't even see my own hands before my face.

The container must be on a trailer again, towed by truck. We're jolting over the Russian streets, I have no clue where we're going. No matter where, it's going to be awful.

If I could only take that picture of Audrey along. As hard as I try, I just can't imagine her being here.  
If she could only be here, in my thoughts. It wouldn't change a thing but it would make my life so much better.  
I miss her.

I really do.


	5. встретимся снова

встретимся снова

.

.

The travel was long and exhausting. This time, I didn't get shipped overseas. After only half an hour of travel - away from the prison - they put the container on a train, and the travel began.  
I didn't see any daylight for three weeks.

After crawling around inside the container, I soon found a box with some food and water. Some dehydrated food - usual army standard. It tastes awful but you know that it'll make you survive. I didn't know how long the travel would take, so I only ate a small ration every day, planning for four weeks. Four weeks are usually enough to be shipped around half the globe. I still remember the days which I spent on a freighter, getting away from the US, to Africa, ten years ago, after I had gotten home from China. The travel had taken three and a half weeks, from San Diego to Cape Town - halfway around the globe.

But the travel didn't take that long that time. The train travel was cold, but at least there was a blanket in here now. I guess the guards have realized that they have to take care of me, so I won't die. Probably they have already collected the money from all three bidders and wouldn't survive it, if they didn't keep their end of the deal: serving me to each one of them alive.

The noise from the rails was so loud that I almost couldn't get any sleep.  
But I soon found a solution: the container was bigger than my cell. It allowed me to stand up, walking up and down in the darkness. I finally had some space to exercise. After a few days of walking up and down in the darkness, for hours, I started running up and down. I did it until pure exhaustion brought me to sleep.  
I guess that's how blind people experience the world.  
I didn't see a thing in weeks, since the container had no connection to the outside, except for a little ventilation hole, which barely let any light in.

After two and a half weeks, the train stopped for two days. I already thought I had reached my destination, but the container got transferred to a different train, and the travel started again.  
I feverishly tried to find out, what that could mean. They would only lift the container off the car and put it on a different one if they were changing the rail system. From the Russian railroad system to a different one.  
There was no use in trying to draw conclusions from that. Almost every country bordering Russia has a different Railroad system. Europe. India. China.

That last option left me sweat-soaked. China. Not again.

At night - or well, at the times I expected it to be night - I lay in a corner of the container, cuddled up into the blanket which really smelt awful by then, thinking about where I was headed to. Who would even pay to get me into their hands? Who were my enemies after all? I've done so many things throughout the past thirty years that there are hardly any countries that I can rule out. Well, Switzerland maybe. I haven't done anything to them... except for the two bank accounts with black money that I have there.  
Eastern Europe... where I've fought wars when I was still in the Army, been there many times for the CIA and hid throughout the past few years... I'm sure that I've got many enemies there.

All these nights my thoughts have revolved around that question: who were my enemies?  
And then came the day when the train stopped again, the container was loaded to a truck and two hours later somebody opened up the doors again.

I didn't know that man, had never seen him before. But my heart sank: he was _obviously_ Chinese.

They rudely grabbed me by my arms and tore me into their building. I couldn't see it clearly, but it was somewhere, in a mountainous region. Why did I still look? Was I trying to weigh my chances, for a getaway? No way. There were too many of them. I was not in any shape to try to get away, not when they tore me out of that container and I'm not now.

They didn't speak one word.

They threw me into a cell and an hour later, a few guards came, ripped my dirty clothes off me, hosed me down with ice cold water and shaved my beard and my head. Standard hygienic measures, I guessed.

Now I'm sitting in my new cell, waiting for what is about to come. Nothing, for hours. Nothing but cold. I am tired of the journey, and tired of weakly fighting the guards who have treated me up to now. But no matter how tired I am, I can't just lie down on the tiles and sleep. The whole journey here I have prayed and hoped for the destination not to be China. Everywhere, but not there.

Awful pictures start to occupy my mind. Memories. Last time that I've been here, ten years ago, they questioned me. But now, nobody even spoke a word.  
Well, it wouldn't make much sense anyway, to question me. There's nothing I know.

Is there a Chinese who has a personal grudge against me? Like Cheng? One of his friends? Superiors?  
Who knows. I killed him, and I don't even regret it. But I should. Whatever he did to me, I shouldn't have killed him. I could have taken him into custody, I could have put him in front of a court. But back then, when I had the chance to do it, I was so filled with rage that I didn't think for a second.

I am a bloody murderer. I am no better than him.

Suddenly someone opens up the door.  
There are four guards, two have guns, the others have tasers and cuffs ready. Aren't they overrating me? Do they really think that I could take it up with four of them, in my state?

I'll prove it to them, that they don't have to be afraid of me. I willingly let them cuff my hands, I don't even try to fight them.

They lead me down a corridor.  
It looks just like the prison where I was kept ten years ago. There must be quite some of these facilities throughout the country.

There is a room on the other side of the hallway, waiting for me.  
Should I try to run?  
I feel the panic taking over me. Pure panic, because I have enough memories of what they will do.  
I better fight them, I better try to flee, I better start screaming.  
No.

I have to face it. I have to pay. I should thank them for what they are about to do.

Just a few steps away from the door, I remember one vital thing: three bidders. There were tree bidders, and the third one of them has most likely paid to get me alive. The Chinese aren't allowed to kill me.  
There's no sense in begging their superior to make an end to my suffering.  
Swear to god, I won't beg him. Not like I begged that Sengalan, when I finally broke.

They lead me into the room. I spot a table in the middle of the room, it almost looks like an operating room table, but with cuffs for the patients' legs and arms.

Just lie down there. It will hurt, but fighting them will only make it harder.

I really have to fight my own wish to get rough on the guards, as they unmistakably tell me to lie down on that table. They are prepared to force me, they are prepared that I'll fight them.

But I don't.  
I've grown wiser in the past years, I tell myself, as I lie down there. Fighting the guards won't make my life any better. There's no escape from what's coming.

They cuff my hands and my legs to that table. The lights are on, almost blinding me.

There are two cuffs on each limb, one on my wrists and one around each ankle, and one more around my upper arms and my thighs. I really can't move.  
It's not like last time. Even though I don't want to think back, I have to. They used to hang me from the ceiling, on an iron chain, just so high that I could barely stand. It looks like they improved their methods in the past ten years. This room doesn't look as bloody as the one in the past.

Finally, a man comes in, carrying a suitcase. He looks like a Chinese version of agent Burke, I can see that right away. He is not here to talk. He just puts his suitcase down on a nearby table and opens it up.  
I can see tens of glass tubes with different liquids in them.  
He choses one and comes over to me.

For a second we look into each other's eyes. Should I try to talk to him? Hell, why not.  
"Do you want me to talk?", I ask him, once again wondering how strange my voice sounds like, after not speaking for so many weeks. Talking has become even harder than walking to me.

He silently shakes his head and injects something into my arm.

BURKE. Yes, he's one like Burke. Goddamnit, this hurts so much. I've caught some of Burkes stuff once, but I instantly know that the Chinese's stuff works better.  
I want to scream, but I can't.  
My mouth opens up to scream, but I feel like I can't breath.  
I feel like suffocating, with my mouth wide open.  
The pain is everywhere. Like all my muscles decided to cramp at the same time.

It goes on like this for minutes.

I didn't even realize it at first, but that guy was watching me all the time, feeling my pulse, counting my breaths, cataloguing my body reactions.

After fifteen minutes which felt like half an eternity, the effects have worn off. There's a clock on the wall, overhead the door, one that tells me how slow time goes by when you suffer.

He gives me some more. A higher dose.

Then he gives me another dose, a smaller one this time.

An hour later, he still hasn't talked to me, not one single word. They don't want any information. Well, I don't have any information anyway. I've been in hiding and out of service. I do not have any information that they could possibly want.

I am soaked with sweat, lying here. The next time that he's repeating it, I'll try to scream. I have to find a way to let the pain out.

He comes back, but with an IV bottle, which he hangs on a stand right next to me. I watch him put the needle into my arm. The way he fixes it, it looks like it's meant to stay for a longer while.

I can't read what's written on the bottle. Chinese characters only.

As he fixes the rubber line to the needle, I already expect the worst - an IV bottle full of pain inducing drugs, but no pain sets in after the first drops reach my arm.

I've never been so glad before.  
Relieved I sink back to the hard table and relax a little. Is it over already? Can't be. Have they tested some new drugs on me? No. I'm sure they could have found another prisoner, a less special and less expensive one to test their torture drugs on. These must be well-tested drugs. Some which they use frequently.

Then the guy comes back over.

He has another syringe in his hands! Damnit!  
But instead of my arm, he pushes the needle through the rubber seal of the IV bottle and injects his drug into the bottle. "NO!" I have to scream now, as long as I still can. But it's of no use anyway. He's going to make me suffer for the next three hours.

The dose is way lower than before, but with each other drop that comes down from the bottle, into my arm, I can feel it a little better. The cramps. The pain. The numbness. It's hard to breathe- again. I feel like I'm suffocating. Every half minute, I manage to catch a short breath, one that keeps me conscious.

The pain gets worse, with each minute that passes by.

After twenty minutes, he once more takes my pulse, and then he leaves the room.

The bottle is still full. I can't even see any sign of it getting emptier, after twenty whole minutes.

I want to scream, but I can't- I have to use the breaths that I get to live, not to scream.

The clock runs slower than all other clocks, I am sure.  
Every second feels like a day.

The drugs are also tainting my judgement. I can feel it. It's hard to breathe and it's hard to think clearly. Maybe these two things are related? Am I losing my mind, because I'm not getting enough oxygen?  
Should I hold my breath and try to knock myself out?

It's not possible, I should have known better. I've tried that already, so many times, but it never works out. Breathing is a body reaction that the mind can't control. No matter how clouded my judgement already is.

After ten minutes, I hear a noise.

I turn my head and then I can see her. I am so glad.

 _I missed you,_ I breathe. Did I really speak it out loud, or was it just a thought? I haven't seen her face in weeks, ever since the guards ripped me out of my cell. But she's there now.  
Unlike all the times before, when she told me that everything was alright, she looks worried now. She looks like she's crying.  
 _Don't cry, Audrey... I will survive this,_ I try to tell her, and as I say it, I am not so sure what I'll even be fighting for. I don't want to be alive, I want to die right away. But I can't. I have to pay for what I've done, and I want to pay in this life. _I will survive this, to be with you again,_ I mumble.

I better use the few breaths that I can catch to survive, and not to talk to the ghost in my head.

But I desperately want to talk to her, as long as I get the chance to see her.

 _Jack..._

I hear her voice. The first time ever, that she calls my by my name. She looks so worried. Why can't I cheer her up?

 _It's okay,_ I try to tell her. I wonder why she's so far away. Back in my cell, in Russia, she was so close, I could feel her touch me. But now, it seems like she's six feet away, and no matter how much I want her to be closer, she doesn't come over to me.

When she's there, I can almost forget the pain.

Pain is just a concept of the human brain, a guy once told me.

She's also just a concept of my brain, I know. And right now, she's stronger than the pain.

.

.


	6. наркотическая интоксикация

наркотическая интоксикация

.

.

All these days were a big blur to me. I know everything about drugs, I've had that monkey on my back for long enough to know it all.  
What they gave me was not heroin, but some effects are similar. The numbness. But heroin, after all, was a great painkiller, and their drug is not. It works right the other way round. It is designed to bring pain, and it does that job really well.

I'm lying here, on the floor, where they left me. I guess they gave me too much. I'm crying. I tried to hide it, but I couldn't do it any longer. Screaming of pain was not possible, most of the times. I couldn't breathe well enough to have enough air to scream. But when the tears came, I didn't fight them any more, at one point.

I feel like a little child.  
I'm lying here, crying. Like a child.

In the beginning, I was embarrassed, embarrassed that Audrey could see me that way.

What a stupid fear - she was a product of my mind! I don't have to be embarrassed, I don't have to hide how bad I feel, not from a ghost! Not from my own mind!  
I guess I'm mixing up reality and my hallucinations again, especially the ones that concern her. Ever since the Chinese have started giving me drugs, the hallucinations got worse. She's here again, with me, all the time, in my mind. I can see her clearly, I can talk to her, in the moments when I'm back in my cell, I can even feel her touch me.

She's not real.  
She is a product of my mind, caused by my solitude and the guilt that I'm still fighting. The drugs have only increased the intensity. How long will I still be able to part reality and imagination?

She runs her fingers over my skin, tenderly wiping away my tears that still embarrass me somehow. _Why do you keep telling me that you're okay when you're not?,_ she's asking me. It's not an accusation. It's just a simple question and I don't have an answer. Why don't I want her to worry? Is it because I somehow believe that she's really here in this hellhole and I want to cheer her up and give her the feeling that we could make it out of here alive, the both of us?

 _I'm sorry,_ I answer, silently. It's hard to find any other words.

She cups my cheek with her hand and I feel her warm skin on my cold one. _They are doing awful things to you, Jack, things you don't deserve._

 _I do,_ I tell her. Should I tell her everything? That I am glad that I can pay for my sins, to see her in heaven one day? _I want to see you in heaven, Audrey. That's why I have to pay for my sins in this life._

She vehemently shakes her head. _You see me now. Not then. You shouldn't suffer like this._

 _I do. I have to pay._

I see how she shakes her head. Is it my mind, subconsciously reminding me that I'm crazy, thinking that there is an afterlife after all? _You don't have to pay. You did nothing wrong._

 _I killed people, Audrey. Many._

 _They deserved it._

 _Not all of them._ She doesn't believe me. I have to make her believe, no matter how hard it is. So I add one name, telling her: _Paul_

She pulls back her hand at once.  
Should I regret saying that name? Did I hurt her?

It's all just a blur, with the drugs that they've given me. I can see her face, three feet away. She pulls back from me. She pulled her hand back. I can no longer feel it.  
Seeing her pull away from me is worse than the pain I feel. It is even worse than the guilt that I feel.

 _I have to pay, Audrey,_ I sigh, and as she pulls away, I feel lonelier than ever before.

She sits there, shaking her head.

Now I have the time to watch her. It's hard to move, but I try to reach out to touch her- I can't.  
Finally I realize that there are metal bars, parting us. I must be in a cell.

I slip closer to the metal bars, but even when I stretch out my right arm, lying directly at the bars, I can't touch her. She's too far away.

Bringing my body there got me exhausted.  
I keep lying there, fighting the with to close my eyes. Sometimes, back in my cell in Russia, I lost sight of her completely, after I closed my eyes. I have to keep them open. I don't want to lose her.

But after a few minutes, the exhaustion and the pain get the better of me. I can't stay awake for much longer. The've kept me on drugs for the past five days, a few hours in that room, with an IV bottle, and thereafter with some injections, back in my cell. I haven't really slept in all these days. I guess I was unconscious for a few hours, when it just got too much.

Right now, it's gonna happen again.  
Fuck seeing Audrey. I can take no more. I hope that she'll get back to me in the future.  
That's the worst thing: not knowing if I'll ever see her again.

I keep lying there, in the position I am. Moving back to the other side of the cell, where the blanket is, it too much of an effort.

Right as I'm falling asleep, I can feel something.  
She took my hand.

I open up my eyes and then I see her. She came back over to me, holding my hand in hers.

I am too tired and too afraid to say anything, so I wait for her to begin.

 _You didn't do anything wrong,_ she says.

 _I did. I killed him. He didn't have to die,_ I answer.

 _You did what you thought was right._

 _I always did that. But I was wrong, so many times._

Slowly she seems to understand what is bothering me so much. _I forgave you, long ago,_ she breathes.

I just smile as an answer. Her forgiving me, that doesn't make it better. God has to forgive me for the things I've done. My enemies have to forgive me, or, if they don't forgive me, they need to have the chance to take revenge.  
She can't forgive me. She can't absolve me from my sins.

 _I love you, Audrey._ It's all that I can say. _I always did._

She presses my hand, tighter than before.

 _Don't leave me,_ I add, talking to the picture of hers, which is only an illusion.

She answers nothing. Of course she doesn't.

I savor the touch, it keeps me from slipping into unconsciousness.  
My whole body still hurts like hell. I feel like burning and freezing at the same time. My muscles have been seized with convulsions so many times in the past hours and days that everything hurts. The last injection was two hours ago. I guess they'll come again in an hour, unless they let me sleep, this time.

 _You are suffering, because of me,_ Audrey finally tells me.

I rip my eyes open and look at her. _No!_ I'm suffering because of her. I'm suffering to see her again, in heaven - she's my reason to stick it out!

 _You are,_ she finally sobs, but again, I'm trying to tell her that she's not right. Oh god, that twisted mind. Those twisted thoughts, complicated by drugs and hallucinations.

 _They do this to you because of me,_ I hear her say.

I try to shake me head. God, that makes me sick. I shouldn't move my head like that.

Finally, there's a light behind her. I've always seen her face against the darkness in the back, but now there's a light. It gets bigger. And then her face slips away again, away from me, into the light.

Her hand is no longer here to grab mine. Suddenly, she's gone.

The light disappears, she disappears, and back here is only the darkness, together with my pain.

But in the end, I can finally allow myself to let the unconsciousness take over. I can no longer fight it, anyway.

The last thing that I hear is a scream. I sounds like it's Audrey's.  
It goes right through me, waking me up again.

I lie there, wide awake.

This all is an illusion, damnit, a hallucination caused by my brain and the drugs. She's not here. She's not the one who has screamed. It could have been anyone. Maybe there wasn't even a scream at all.

I'm starting to confuse reality and imagination.

 _She's not real,_ I tell myself, _she's not real. she's not real. she's not real._

I treasured her, all the time. But my head is turning against me now. She's better off dead. I don't even want to think about her being here, in China, again, probably being tortured. That would be even worse than death.

I listen into the darkness, trying to listen out for another scream.

Of course, there is none.

 _She's not real,_ I tell myself again. I have to believe it.

.

.


	7. сдаваться

сдаваться

.

.

 _You've given up, Jack,_ she tells me.  
She's right with every word she says.

Yesterday, I fell asleep at some point. Tomorrow morning was the first time in days that I was not affected by any drugs when I woke up. The effects must have worn off at some point during the night.  
When I woke up, all I felt was a giant hangover.

I had slept on the one side of my cell where there were those metal bars. That was the side pointing towards the hallway.  
It cost me some effort to crawl back to the other side of the cell and get the blanket. I wrapped it around my cold shoulders to warm myself up again after sleeping on the cold floor.  
Life is hell. Being here and being alive is hell.  
But no, I'm not gonna beg the Chinese to kill me. I won't break. I have to pay and I will.

The whole morning, I sat there, staring at the spot behind the metal bars. It's the main hallway, the corridor. But at the same time, it's the place where I've seen Audrey for the last time. I remember stretching out my arm, into the corridor, trying to touch her, thinking it was really her, out there.  
The whole morning long I just stared at the point out there. It were dark green tiles. The looked cold. They were cold. Like everything here was.

But at least it's not as bad as Sengala. It's worse than Russia - because there, they don't seem to harm me at all, except for the few times when the guards let people beat me or waterboard me in return for some money.  
The Chinese seem to have a plan. I'm not here for no reason, I know that. But I haven't yet found out what their plan was. Maybe revenge for Cheng? For messing up Cheng's plans in London? Couldn't be. They wouldn't pay that much money to get me into their hands. They would be happy that I'm locked away, forever, and I guess they wouldn't worry too much if it was them, locking me away, or the Russians.

But they need to have a reason to keep me here and to torture me.

Nobody talked to me.

Nobody asked me any questions.

But still they keep torturing me. They have kept me on their pain drugs for the past five days, and I'm guessing that they will repeat their procedures.

Sitting in my cell, my only thought was: why? why were they doing this to me?  
I guess I sat there for hours, wrapped into my blanket.

And at one point, Audrey was there again.

I hadn't seen her come.

Suddenly she was there, right at the metal bars. I watched her, how she slowly sat down, looking at me, all the time.

Our views were locked on each other's eyes.

I crawled over to her, slowly, not to shoo her away by moving too fast.

She sat there, silently, and I could see the hurt in her eyes, when she looked at me. I just had to reassure her that I was okay.

But she knew that I wasn't - and finally she said it to me: _You've given up, Jack._

She's right with every word she says.

Instead of shaking my head and denying it, I finally say _yes._ I don't have to lie to her. I have really given myself up.

 _They are doing unspeakable things to you,_ she says.

I just nod my head slightly and lean against the metal bars, like she does. Even our shoulders touch slightly.  
I am electrified by the touch- denying every thought that tells me she's maybe not real, that she's not there.  
Feeling her body, only that small portion of her shoulder rest against mine makes me forget anything else.

Her right hand lies between two bars, she waits for me to take it.  
I hesitatingly do. With everything I do, I am afraid to destroy the picture of her.

Touching her is great. Her hand is warm, compared to mine. Her skin feels soft, softer than anything I remember.

Immovably we sit there, for a few minutes, as she is running her thumb softly over my hand. We're both looking at the same spot: some fresh scars that I carried home from my recent stay in Sengala.

 _Awful things happened to you,_ she remarks, softly stroking the scar that stretches from my thumb all the way up to the tattoo on my lower arm.

 _It's okay. I'm okay with it,_ I answer, and try to smile. No use. She doesn't see it anyway, staring at my hand.

 _Who did that to you?,_ she asks.

 _Sengalans,_ I answer, wondering why my mind wants me to have such a conversation with her. Was it because that imaginary picture of her wasn't there with me? I saw her in my cell in Russia. But not in Sengala.  
 _I missed you down there,_ I add. _I missed you all the way._

She finally stops stroking my skin and just firmly takes my hand into hers. _You shouldn't be here,_ she says.

 _I'm okay with it. I'm okay with what they do._

 _No, you can't be._

 _I am. I want to see you in heaven, and I have to pay for my sins._

She looks up, I can feel how her body moves. I slowly follow her, doing the same, pushing myself a few inches away from the metal bars so can look into her eyes.

Her face is right next to mine.  
Today she looks so real. She never looked that real, not once, not ever before.

 _They are doing this to you because of me,_ she says.

 _I only let them do this because of you,_ I add. _Otherwise I won't ever see you again._

She vehemently shakes her head. _You are seeing me right now,_ she hisses, _there is no 'then'!_

 _I hope there in an afterlife, Audrey,_ I say. It's the only thought that keeps me alive at all. I pay for my sins. I die. It will become better then. _I want to meet you on the other side._

 _You're not there yet. You're here now. With me!_

She's angry. I can see it in her eyes. I don't want to see her like this. There's only one way to stop this: I have to tell her that she's not real. Whenever I do that, the picture of her goes away.

 _You're not in any afterlife! You are here! In this life!_

I see how angry she is with me.

 _You've given up, Jack! Why the hell have you given yourself up?!,_ she almost shouts at me.

I can't stand to see her like this.  
 _Because you're not real, Audrey,_ I finally tell, waiting for her face to disappear.

But it doesn't disappear. My imagination must have become stronger. I must have become crazier. The Chinese's drugs have helped for sure. _You're not real, Audrey,_ I repeat.

Suddenly she stretches out both her hands and harshly grabs my head, as if to remind me that she was real. _I am here!,_ she hisses. _Why the hell have you given up, Jack?!_

 _You're not real, Audrey,_ I repeat, _I saw your coffin. I saw your dad weep. I wept for you. Cheng's men killed you._ I have to tell myself and her these awful things to remind myself that she's not real. I'm going crazy now, I am. I am mixing up reality and imagination.

Two guards come now, down the hallway.

They grab her by her shoulders and tear her away.

I am even glad that they do.

The thought of her, being alive and being here, trapped in this hellhole... that thought was worse than the pain from the drugs.

I still sit by the bars, and in my mind, I watch how the guards tear her away from me, down the corridor. She's screaming all the way. She's screaming that she's alive. That she's real. And that I fail her by giving myself up like I do.

What a twisted mind.

.

.


	8. реальность

реальность

.

.

She was so damn real.  
I could see her. I could feel her. Her skin touched mine. I could feel the warmth of her. I could smell her, sense her proximity, feel her breath on my skin.

Ever since they tore her away from me - in my thoughts - I've been sitting in my cell, telling myself that she wasn't real. They were giving me drugs that made me hallucinate.

And to prove it to myself, I keep remembering the things that happened on the most awful day of my life:  
I remember Kate's phone call, telling me that Audrey was dead. I remember seeing Cheng again, my nemesis. I remember the moment in which I swung the sword, cutting his head off. The blood. His blood. For so many years I had wanted to have his blood on _my_ hands, for a change - in the end I even kept my hands clean.  
He died too quickly. He didn't deserve that kind of a death. But back then, I was blinded by rage. Almost like on the day when I went to avenge Renee. Seeing my loved ones die makes me a murderer. I was a homicidal maniac when Renee died, and I was in the same mood when Audrey died.  
The only difference was, that when Audrey died, there was nobody to let my rage out on. I killed the guys on that ship. But when Cheng's body lay there, in front of me, the mission was fulfilled. There was nobody else to kill, even though I could have gone on for hours, if not for days.

It took me long to get off that trip. To calm down.

When I exchanged myself for Chloe, I secretly hoped that I could take my anger out on the Russians. Nobody would blame me for defending myself after getting captured.

But the Russians were too good. They knew who I was. They put me in chains and always had three times the number of guards around me than they usually had.

I tried to fight them, in the beginning, but after a few weeks in prison, my anger calmed down.

Everything changed. It was like a sudden realization: I would be locked up forever. Life in prison, and then death in prison. There was nothing that I could do about this.  
Heller was about to step down. And with him, my last chance on friends in the U.S. administration was gone. Nobody was about to miss me. Since I don't have any valuable intelligence information, they are not even afraid of me being in the hands of the enemy.

That was when I started to think about death, and the life after death.

Audrey told me that I had given myself up. Was she right?

Probably. I've really given myself up. I let them do whatever they want to do. I can't change it anyway, so why fight it?

When they come to pick me up again, I just stretch out my arms and let them cuff my hands. Let's get it over with.

They lead me back to their interrogation room, make me lie down on the table and strap my limbs to the table.

Then comes the IV.

I hate it. It's painful. That I've given myself up doesn't mean that I don't feel the pain. I do. It's horrible. I would scream if I could breathe well enough, but I can't. At least I can cry. I can't stop it, I can't choke it back.

They leave after a few minutes.

I'm alone in the room.

It doesn't take long for Audrey to appear.

She stands there, a few feet away, but she's slowly coming closer.

 _Audrey..._ , I breathe.

 _Don't talk. It'll only strain you,_ she answers.

I see that she wants to lay her hand on my shoulder, but something keeps her from doing it. Why isn't she coming over to me? She could help me.  
 _Audrey... pull the IV out... please,_ I manage to say. I see how she tries to stretch out her hand to help me, and pull the needle out of my arm, but she can't reach me. Something holds her back.

The drugs blurred my vision. I can't even see her clearly - and I can't really say what's holding her back.

 _I can't see you suffer like this,_ she cries.

 _It's okay._

 _I's not. I'll make them stop._

I freeze. How will she make them stop? _How?_

 _I'll talk,_ she whispers, and then she turns away. Is she really calling for them now?

 _Audrey... Audrey!_

Oh god, am I crazy now? Why is the picture in my head suddenly interacting with the guards? They haven't even asked me a single question yet. What does she want to talk about?

I watch her back. It's all a blur to me. She seems to be talking to someone. Must be another product of my imagination.  
Where did this other one suddenly come from? I didn't hear the door being opened up. Well, I can't tell for sure, because I can't really see anything that is more than three yards away.

Suddenly a hand grabs me by my arm.

I turn around.  
It's the Chinese Burke.

He removes the IV from my arm. It will take a while until the pain stops, but I'm already feeling better, knowing that the supply of drugs has been stopped for now.

Slowly it's getting easier to breathe.

I feel them loosening the shackles around my legs and my arms- that doesn't change anything. I am way too intoxicated and way too weak right now to use that moment.

Throughout all the confusion, I try to search for Audrey.

Usually, her picture disappears instantly, when there are others in the room.

But I can still see her. She's standing there, with her back turned at me. I only see her long blonde hair. She's talking to someone.

I let them do with me whatever they want. Right now, I only have eyes for her.

She turns around for a last time, and then she walks away, together with the other one.

I hate it that she leaves. It makes me feel alone instantly.

Somebody heaves me off the table and then they drag me back to my cell.

Every other day I'm getting crazy more and more. I'm losing it.  
I know that I'm starting to mix up reality and my illusions.  
She can't be here, no she can't.

I saw Heller cry. I saw her coffin. Mark was there, crying for her. Even I did the same.  
They wouldn't make such a mistake. They can't be wrong.

No, she's not here.

Sitting in my cell, I wonder why the torture has already stopped for today. Audrey told me she would talk. Then it stopped.

I have a look at my left arm. There is a little bloody spot, of where they put the IV in.

I can't believe what's happening.

I can't believe why they stopped already for today.

There is only one possible explanation in my mind, but this can't be the right one.

I'm losing it. I must be losing it.

.

.


	9. отказ

отказ

.

.

I miss her. God, how much do I miss her.  
I've been sitting here for two days. At least I believe it to be two days. I haven't seen any daylight ever since they tore me out of that container and brought me here, into this house. How long ago was that? One and a half weeks? Or two? I can't tell, I really can't.

They're messing with my head. They've given me drugs that made me hallucinate.

I saw Audrey. Like she was here. She was so damn real.

All I did for the past two days was to tell myself that she is dead. She is not here. These are the drugs. This is the loneliness. These are just hallucinations. And they are using them to torture me. I am my worst enemy.

But a small part of my brain won't let loose. It keeps telling me that this was no trick, and no hallucination. It keeps telling me that she is here, and that the things that she said to me were real, that feeling her touch was real and not just an imagination.  
It's hard to believe.

I feel the cold stone wall behind my back, even through the blanket that I pulled around my shoulders. It's hard to believe that Audrey is here too, probably doing the same in a cold cell somewhere around here. That she's pulling a blanket around her shoulders, hoping to make this life at least bearable for a few hours, until they get her out of there again, putting her at their mercy.

I refuse to believe it.  
I just can't. Thinking about her, sitting here, somewhere... it makes me angry. It awakens powers within me that I already lost over the course of the past months.

Ten years ago, I sat in such a cell. I did exactly the same. I tried to make it through the night and the following day. Back then I only had that picture of her on my mind: seeing her wait for me, the only wish was to survive and get back to her.  
I never thought of her being there as well.  
I pictured her at home, waiting for me, or probably not wasting her life waiting for me, spending it with someone else. Even that would've been okay.

I wished that I could hope for that now.  
I have nothing that keeps me going.  
I have nobody to return to. Worse: I can't even tell myself that I'm here to keep her safe. I'm here for nothing. She's dead. The only thing I can do is pay for my sins to see her in heaven. I've become a useless creature. My life has become a useless one without any person on this earth any more who I really care about.

Why won't my mind let loose?

I almost feel like on the day when I found out that she had been in China as well. What would I've done ten years ago, knowing that she was trapped there with me, all the time?  
I would have freaked out, I'm sure. I would have told them everything. It would have awakened powers within me that would have made me try harder to get out. To get _us_ out. I would have found a way, probably. Giving in to them, talking to them would have given me a chance to recover from what they'd done to me. I would have found a glitch in their security detail to use. Knowing that Audrey was there, too, would have made me try harder. I would have overstepped boundaries, I would have given everything, even sold out my country.

Realization is a downer.  
Would I have really sold out my country?

Of course, I would have. She's worth more to me than pride or justice. Much more. I can't see her suffer. There are others who can take care about national security. She's worth more to me than that.  
When Tony went to prison for saving Michelle, years ago, everyone judged him. Everyone but me. Back then, I only remembered how close I had once been to murdering David Palmer, just because they'd kidnapped my wife. I could perfectly understand Tony, even though I never told him. I tried to defend him, but there's no defense for selling out national security to save a loved one.

You don't need a defense.  
You take the blame and you're just happy that you did what you did. Because there's nothing worse than watching a loved one suffer or die.

And that's why these ten fuckin' percent of my brain that keep telling me that she's alive and here make me go crazy. Even if the chances are little - if they are only 0.1 percent - the sole thought of her being here is worse than everything else.

I look around in my cell. Three walls are made of solid concrete. There is no window. The third wall is made of heavy iron bars. Behind the bars there's the corridor, also a windowless hall made of concrete. Some of the bars can be opened, as a door. The lock is heavy. No way to pick it. I don't have anything here anyway that I could use.  
There seem to be more cells on this hallway, right and left to mine, but either they're empty, or the people in there are just as silent as I am.

I have no chance to get out of here.

What would I've done ten years ago, in the same situation, had I known that Audrey was here, too?

Probably I would have shouted and screamed until a guard would have come. I would have told him that I'm willing to answer their questions, in return for medical treatment. I would have acted sick until they would have started to care - not to kill their only source of information inadvertently. Acting weak would have loosened their security perimeter eventually. Giving me a chance to escape.

I let out a deep sigh.  
That plan is of no use now.  
They don't want any information from me. They never asked a single question. And I have nothing to tell.

I have to think of a different plan. What do I have that they want from me?  
Nothing, probably.

No, don't think like that. They bought me. They paid a lot of money and they took a real effort to bring me here. There's gotta be something that they want to get out of this, I just haven't found out yet.

I pull the blanket closer. It's damn cold here, it's getting colder every other day.  
At least I have enough time to think about what they could possibly want from me.

Sitting there for hours, I find no answer.

I strive against the only possible solution that comes to my mind: That Audrey is here. That they have bought _me_ to make _her_ tell them everything they want to know. She knows a lot, I'm sure. She's the first daughter, her father's closest relative, the wife of the White House chief of staff, she probably knows things that she's not even allowed to know. She's not giving in to them, no matter how long they keep her here. But she won't stand watching me suffer.

Damn it, why am I using present tense?  
This is just a fantasy. My mind keeps towing loose ends together, making a credible story out of the few speculations, hallucinations and facts that I have at hand.  
She's dead. She's not here. Not even if that all makes sense.

I'm sitting there for two more hours, until someone comes along the hallway.

I hoped it would be Audrey, but of course it's not her. Three guards come, to me. Two of them hold me while the third one rips my shirt off. Nothing good is about to come. They cuff my arms and tear me along to the interrogation room, where they force me to get down on my knees.

I do what they say. I don't fight back, there's no sense in it.

I kneel there, my eyes closed, listening to their voices. I don't understand a single word. I understood some of the Russian words, but here - none.  
How long are they gonna keep me here? One more week? Two? Three?  
The Sengalans had me for four weeks, before they sent me back to Russia. I guess that they have a similar agreement with the Chinese. I'm not gonna stay here forever, and that gives me some hope. No matter how hard they're gonna treat me today or tomorrow or whenever, I will survive, and I'll get the chance to recover again.  
I'm living from each day to the next, hoping that it will bring no pain.

That wish is not gonna be fulfilled today, I know. My hands are in chains, I'm kneeling in the middle of the room, the shackles are tied to a massive chain that hangs from the ceiling. Looks like it's gonna get bloody today. The guards are wearing gloves. One of them even a plastic apron like a butcher. My upper body is naked, there's gotta be a reason for that. Lashes? Probably. Electrocution? Probably. Acid, fire, red-hot metal sticks? Probably. More drugs? Most likely. The only thing I can rule out is waterboarding. They would have put me on the table for that.

Now there are different voices.  
When someone touches my arm, I rip my eyes open again.  
It's the Chinese Burke, he injects something into my arm.

I wait for the pain to set in.

But it doesn't. Instead, a wave of numb and tiredness and relaxation sweeps over me.

Heroin.  
I would never forget how this feels like.  
He really gave me heroin. Not a big dose, but it serves its purpose.

They want me to be able to take more of whatever is about to come.

Even more voices enter the room.  
I weakly and slowly turn my head around to look- couldn't have done it any faster anyway. The high is worst within the first few minutes, I feel totally zonked right now.

They're bringing someone in here.

 _Audrey._

This can't be real. This can't be happening. That must be the drugs.

Her hands are cuffed behind her back, as they force her to sit down on the other side of the room, facing me.

For a second, our eyes meet.

Is it really not true?  
That view of seeing her over there sends ice cold shivers down my back. This can't be happening. It can't.

The ten percent of my brain that told me she's alive, they're screaming loud right now inside my head, saying _I told you._ I still refuse to believe this. But it becomes harder to deny with every second.

.

.


	10. свобода

_свобода_

 _._

 _._

 _Jack!_

I can hear her calling my name. She did it all the time, throughout the past hours. Scream my name. Shout at them to stop.  
Whenever I could, I shouted back, at her, to stop it. She shouldn't care about me. She shouldn't feel obliged to talk, just to save me or spare me some suffering. Doesn't she know that she can't save me anyway? They'll be mistreating me one way or the other. And if not the Chinese, then the Russian guards will find another willing payer who'll take their place torturing me.

But I couldn't tell her all that. In the few seconds that I had, between their electrocutions and the burns, I only told her that I was okay. That she shouldn't care about me because I was _okay with this._

What a lie. I was not okay. I was far from being okay.  
And she knew that, too. She heard the screams, that I desperately tried to bite back. She heard me groan, even though I tried everything to stay silent.

I just couldn't. I can't stay silent when they push a red-hot glowing metal bar onto my skin. I had to let the pain out, screaming.  
The smell was awful. It was the worst of all: it smelt like broiling, like barbecue, like meat. But knowing that this was _my_ flesh, burning, made me almost throw up.

She got sick when she smelt it. Can't blame her for that.  
She should have never experienced such a thing, but she did. She had to watch me suffer, for hours. I didn't count the number of burns, but my whole front is covered with aching red and black stripes, second and third degree burns. There are even some on my back. I had hoped that they'd leave out one side for me to sleep on, but they're evenly distributed. That will hurt.  
When I could take no more, fainting again and again after each more burn, they gave me some more heroin. It all turned into a blur, then. I can hardly remember a thing. Probably I hung in the chains, groaning and crying, while they continued to work on me, electrocuting me this time.

Everything hurts.

 _Jack!_

I can her her call my name again. She's rattling my shoulders. _Wake up!_

I don't wanna open my eyes. But it's she, asking me to do it. I can hardly turn her down. I feel like I'm taken ten years into the past. Some days, I just didn't open up my eyes, even though they were trying to wake me up again to give me some more. I played dead.  
And I don't wanna open my eyes now. They're here for sure, if Audrey is also here. Opening my eyes will just mean that there will be more pain.

 _Jack, please..._ I hear her pleading. Fuck the pain. It's worth it, seeing her.

Reluctantly I open up my eyes.  
She's here, she's right here with me, leaning over me. I guess I'm too spellbound to say anything. Even though I only have eyes for her, I try to look around a little. There are no guards. Where the hell are we?

 _Jack, can you get up?,_ she asks me.

Will be hard. But it should work. I nod as an answer and then she already takes my hand, helping me sit up. A wave of nausea comes over me. That simple move hurts so much.  
I already want to ask her where we are, but the question answers itself when I look around. Torture must have already been over for some time now. This is my cell. She's in here with me. And the door is open!

Audrey must have seen how confused I am about all this. She wordlessly shows me the key in her hands. But that doesn't any more questions in my head than it produces.  
Is she really here?  
It this _really_ her?  
Why is she here with me in my cell now?  
Why is the door wide open?

 _Jack, can you stand up?,_ she worriedly asks, _Can you walk?_

I reach out for one of the metal bars and pull myself up. Its hard work. But the open door... and Audrey... they're the best motivation I could possibly get.

 _Audrey,_ I say.

She worriedly looks at me, coming back over, real close.

I'm at a loss for words. What should I say or ask her? Ask her if she was alive? I guess she proved that well enough during the past hours. They asked her details that only a White House member could answer. And she did it. For me.

 _Here,_ she says, and hangs a jacket around my still naked shoulders. It's one of the guards', I remember. How did she get it?

I want to say something, like - where are we going? - but that question would really sound stupid now. She wants us to leave. She somehow got the keys and she wants us to try. She is doing exactly what I would have done ten years ago, had I known that we were in this together.  
 _Where did you get the keys from?_ I finally ask.

Her motivated view turns into a sad glance for a moment. _Don't even ask,_ she whispers as an answer and nods into the direction of the hallway.

Don't even ask. That says a lot. I'm afraid to think about the things that she possibly did to get a hold of that key to our cells.

It's the anger that I get that makes me go, the two steps over to the open door, holding on to the metal bars.

There's the doorstep. The first step on my way into freedom. But we're in the middle of a Chinese military compound. We're unarmed. I'm hurt. Audrey looks like she's okay, but that can only be true superficially. She's also been locked up for months. We're not in the shape to run and fight our ways through. What if we get out? How shall we survive out here in the middle of nowhere, with no place to go? This is such a bad idea to run.

 _Audrey,_ I say, holding her back, as she already wants to tear me out into the hallway.

She comes back, grabs me by my upper arms to straighten me up. _Jack, this is our chance!,_ she says, trying to tear me along. _Isn't that what you're here for?_

I weakly shake my head. _It's not. This way we're just gonna get ourselves killed._

 _What about backup?,_ she asks.

Silence. Why is she expecting backup?  
Slowly I'm beginning to realize. She thinks I've come here to get her out. She still believes I have backup somewhere, or a plan. I have neither.

 _There is no backup,_ I finally tell her. _Just us._

This time I have to catch her, because it looks like her knees are giving in. I close the little space in between us and whisper into her ear, _it's just you and me here. We're most likely somewhere in_ _northwestern China._

What I told her shocked her. She's suddenly frozen stiff. I reach over and close the door to the cell again from the inside, in case someone looks into the corridor. Then I lead her away from this side of the cell, over to the darkest corner, where I usually sit.

I don't know where to start this conversation. It's so hard to acknowledge the fact that she's really here. All I want is to take her into my arms, but she doesn't look like she wants that. After all, I don't know what the guards already did to her.

One of us has to start talking. It's not gonna be me, because I'm out of words to say. She looks so changed. Her hair is disheveled and she wears dirty old prison clothes. She looks worried, and different than the picture of her that I remember.  
 _Are you okay, Audrey?,_ god, I'm stammering. _Did they hurt you?_ I'm so glad to see her shake her head. Her eyes leave mine and she starts sizing me up. Hesitatingly, she takes the seam of the jacket that hangs around my shoulders and pulls it a little bit aside to look at the burns on my skin. _And you?_

 _I'm okay._  
It's a big lie. I am far from being okay. It's only the adrenaline, caused by seeing her again, that keeps me up on my feet.

 _I couldn't stop them,_ she whispers, close to tears, as she watches the burns.

 _It's okay. You don't have to stop them,_ I answer. _You know, they're just doing this to make you feel bad. To make you feel obliged to talk to them, but you're not. You don't have to say anything. I can handle this._

She shakes her head vehemently, saying _they're gonna kill you, if I don't._

She doesn't know what I know.  
I look around, I listen into the silence to hear if anyone is close. One of the guards could come along any minute now.

There's no-one.

I tell Audrey to crouch down and then I do the same. I have to tell her why I'm not afraid of being killed by the Chinese.

 _They're not gonna kill me,_ I begin, _they don't even have the authority to do that. The Russians sentenced me to life, and they want me back, very soon - in one piece. They only brought me here for a short while and now I know why._ To make her talk. That was worth the money which they paid to these corrupt Russian guards.

 _Russians?,_ she asks.

 _Long story._ I have to cut it short somehow. _They captured me in London... I've been locked up just as long as you have._ I can't help but let out a sad sigh. Tiredly I lean against the wall next to me. Am I disillusioning her? Most likely, yes.  
The tiredness comes back.

Her sad view tells me everything. She thought I had come here to get her out. She doesn't even know that the Americans are not looking for her - they buried her. I can't tell her that. She won't survive another day in here, knowing that, because she only lives through the day, hoping that they'll search for her, find her and get her out.

 _We have to try to get out of here, Jack,_ she implores me, laying both her hands on my shoulders. _This is the only chance we'll get._

I never thought of escaping. Not in Russia, not in Sengala, and not here. I had no reason to, and no power.

But now, there is a reason, for the first time at all! Wake up, you idiot! She has the key to your cell in her hands! She risked everything to get you this chance! You don't have to suffer in prison for the rest of your life! Take this chance and run, damnit!

 _Jack!,_ she keeps imploring me. _We have to run! Now!_

Why am I suddenly afraid of leaving? Because it could get me killed? No. Because it could get her killed? They wouldn't kill such a valuable source of information.

 _We have to think this through, Audrey,_ I say, to buy some time. _Every twenty minutes, there's a patrol here,..._ I don't know when the last one was. But I know that we won't get very far if we don't think this through. _We have to wait for the guard, and neutralize him to buy time._

The longer I think this through, the more I realize that we have no chance at all. We will never make it out of this building. We will never make it off this complex. We have nothing, no car, no money, no weapons, no backup. As soon as they find out we're gone they'll hunt us down. There is no chance.

 _Jack!_ , she rattles my shoulders again.

I don't even know where we are. We could be in the middle of the Gobi desert or some other hostile area.  
I have given up long ago. Will a look into her eyes get me up again?

She's so full of hope.  
I have to do this for her. Even if it's hopeless.

At the end of the corridor, the door gets opened up. The guard is coming for his usual patrol.

There is no turning back now. There never was.  
She already made the decision.

.

.


	11. река

It's a wonder that we're here now. It's a wonder that I managed to kill that guard. He's dead, for sure. I twisted his neck. Even though I swore to myself never to kill anyone ever again.  
I did it for her.  
This guy didn't deserve to die. Well, probably he was a bad man, following the orders of a bad regime that ordered him to treat people badly, but that doesn't mean he deserves death. I shouldn't have been his last judgement.  
I did it for Audrey. Like everything else. I took his gun, his taser, and his clothes. For the first time in months, I wear shoes again now.

I've kept her behind me, the whole way out, while I kept the gun in front. The way is lined with corpses now. I killed the two guards on the lower floor, just while they were locking the doors. Their keys were within reach. I took their guns and ammo, and I used it.

There's still some left, but right now I don't even need it.

This was not a high-security prison building. The problem is, that it is in the middle of a wide military complex that we still haven't left. When we reached the exit, we were surprised to see that it was night. Maybe that was the reason for the low number of guards. Must be.  
We started running, away from the buildings, across a shooting range, taking cover behind the wooden targets that they built in the middle of the flat land. On the other side of the compound there's a forest. But that would have been the logical place to go - but also the place where they're looking for us now, not knowing that we're somewhere else.

I crouch down behind one of their targets. I'm out of breath and every other step hurts, but I'll keep going. Maybe Audrey was right all the way from the beginning: we _do_ have a chance to get out of here. We've made it out of the building and the compound will be the next thing for us to leave behind.

I look around in the dark - Audrey ran a few yards behind me. She needs a few seconds to catch up with me, until she crouches down in the same place with me, behind a wooden wall resembling a mock tank. She's out of breath. Just like me. Probably it's the first time for her to run at all, ever since months. I can't blame her for being slow. I should have looked back earlier, going slower myself not to leave her that far behind.

It's hard to see her contours at night, so I lean over until I can feel her body. _Are you okay?,_ I whisper into her ear.

 _Uh-hm_ She's totally out of breath. But I have to demand even more from her now.

 _Do you see the river, over there?_ It's shimmering in the moon light, about two hundred yards away from us. Flat terrain, no chance to take any cover. If they spot us running over there, we're done running.

I give her a few more moments to catch her breath again, before I force her to stand up and run once more. The first few yards I tear her along, having grabbed her hand, to save her some energy. But when we reach the open terrain, I push her in front of me - if they spot us, they'll shoot. I am the only cover she has.

I saw the motion sensor too late - when I noticed the little red flash, a laser, in which we had run into. The side down to the river is not as ill-protected as I had hoped for.  
Their cars come out of the forest again, where they searched for us, and over to us! We have to run faster. I can't.  
I dare to look back, to see how much time we still have. Not much. They're five hundred yards away only, and we have another fifty to run.  
They start firing at us.

Audrey screams as she hears bullets zip by on both sides. Their aim is not very good, out of a driving car, onto two moving targets.

At least she runs faster - I have to do that, too, to catch up with her.

We didn't have that much of a plan. Get out, get away. But when I saw the river, the decision was done: this was our only way out. As I plunge into the water, a few seconds after Audrey, I just hope that the current will be strong and take us away quickly.

It does.  
Audrey is already ten or twenty yards ahead. The guards are gonna shoot at the things they see - I'll give them a target. She's doing it right. She doesn't attempt to cross the river, just swims along with the current, as I told her. That's the fastest way out.

I'm too exhausted and too tired to do it like her. I can hardly keep myself overwater.  
As a piece of driftwood comes by, I gladly take it and hold on to it, so I don't have to swim any more. I'm done. I can't go on. I can't move. It's time for a break.

It's hard to make out Audrey in the dark. She's already a lot ahead, and it looks like hearing the bullets gave her more powers than ever. She has to make it. And she will, I'm sure.  
I have to move my legs, at least. Do something to get away from here faster. Swim, damn it!

A few minutes later, I hear that typical sound of a boat engine. They have boats. Of course they have boats, damn it.  
I look back - it's only one, with a giant searchlight.

I have no chance.  
I never had.  
There is a time to live the idea of possible freedom - but there's also one to be realistic. I can't make it out of here. I'm drifting on a river, they have a boat, probably more than only one.

Once more I try to spot Audrey, but I can't make her out in the dark. She's somewhere ahead of me. The boat is behind me.  
The searchlights are not allowed to find her - even if it means that I'll make them find me.

I change direction an swim out into the middle of the river, away from the shore, where the ground troops would probably take care of me.

It doesn't take them long to find me, with their searchlight.

They're not firing any more: they want me alive. Of course they want me alive, to give me back to the Russians. I guess they had to pay a huge deposit.

I swim faster holding on to the branch of driftwood, trying to give them the impression that I was heading for the other side of the river - which means that they'll look for Audrey there. It'll give her time. I told her never to cross the river. It's nonsense - it takes a lot of power, it only slows one down and it is dangerous to be in the middle of the river, with no cover on any side.  
I hope she sticks to the few advice that I gave her: stay close to the edge, but enough inside the river to use the faster current. Staying close will mean that your legs can reach the ground when you get tired, making it easier not to drown. When a boat comes, you can get the hell out and take cover somewhere. Don't stay there too long. Go back into the water and make a getaway.  
If there comes a large town, get out of the water, you'd be too easy to spot. And it's quite easy to hide somewhere in a town. Continue to travel at night.

Well, that's not necessary anyway. The only town - the only lights, that I can see are far behind us. There was a town, upstream of the military complex. The direction that we're going, there's only darkness for now.

Audrey didn't want to hear all that. She didn't want to hear me talk about getting parted, about what to do in case I wouldn't make it.  
But I had to tell her. I always knew that I wouldn't make it out of here. I had that feeling. I am getting proven right.

No matter how hard I try to get out of the cone of light again, their searchlight is merciless. They're closing in on me.

I have to distract the boat for as long as I can. If there is only one boat, it means that if I can distract them, Audrey's chances will improve significantly.

Something hits the water next to me. A bullet? Damn it, what about giving me back to the Russians?  
A wave of panic comes over me.

Go faster.  
If not for freedom, then at least to make it out of here alive.

.

.


	12. Право на свободу и личную неприкосновенн

Право на свободу и личную неприкосновенность

.

.

 _Twenty minutes earlier:_

 _Do you see this, here?_

 _What? That?_

 _Yes._

 _I... P... I. What does that mean?_

 _It's not a P, that curve here means it's an L. That's cyrillic. Ili._

 _And?_

 _Ili's a major river running from China to Kasachstan. If we are really in this area we just have to follow the river and we'll get out._

Reading these letters on the side of a truck, below some Chinese characters cheered me up. Probably a desginator, telling to what part of the country the company belonged that was stationed here. It gave me back some hope- if we get out of here, into what direction should we run? That had been one of my biggest fears at all. Now we have something to guide us. A path into freedom.

 _How far is the border?_

 _Could be 200 miles, could be twenty. I can't tell._ 200 miles or 20 - they are both within reach. We can really make it over to Kasachstan. If I remember things correctly, even a larger city could be in reach: Almaty. And I have friends there. God... we could really make it. Ili makes sense. I know that the container didn't travel very long after they changed from the Russian railroad system to the Chinese. They probably shipped me through Kasachstan and changed there, from the standard Russian rail gauge to the narrower Chinese one.

I crouch down, counting the guns and magazines that I have now. I took them all from the guards I killed in the past minutes. Five full magazines, four guns.

 _Here._ I hand off one of the guns to Audrey. _Use it only if you really need it. If we get parted..._

 _We won't get parted,_ she interrupts me.

 _Audrey, if-_

 _We won't!_ The idea is so horrific to her, that she doesn't even want to talk about that.  
We don't have time for that kind of a game. They're already looking for us, and we've just taken cover behind one of their vehicles parked in a dark corner. We're so lucky that they haven't yet started to look for us in the right place.

 _Audrey!_ I grab her by her upper arms, and I'm not very careful whether I'm hurting her or not. I never got rough on her, not once - but now I don't have to the time for hysteric answers and being blinded by fear. _If we get parted..._ I say, hissing it - she's silent, frozen by the tone of my voice and my firm grab, _you have to continue alone. They'll not expect us to split up. They expect us to stay together and they and the public around here will be instructed to look for the both of us. Do you understand? If we have to split up, we have to continue alone, and meet again later. You cannot stay somewhere and wait for me. I wouldn't even know where you are, I can't search for you and can't search for me. We have to continue, whatever comes, and we'll meet again much later._

She silently nods. She's trembling with fear, I can feel it.  
I'm so sorry for her. But I can't help her now. She's looking into my eyes, pleading me not to leave her alone, ever.

 _You have to know where to go, Audrey,_ I tell her. I can't hiss at her. I have to talk calmly, to make her listen.  
 _You have to follow the river, Audrey. I don't know how the border looks like - if you can cross easily. But I guess so. Otherwise, get out of the river and cross the border somewhere else, up in the mountains. Then join the river again, when you're past the border. After another 100 miles there will be a lake. See if you can get to the other end of the lake, there's a city. Steal some clothes and hop onto a train south, to Almaty, that is not very far. There is a big cathedral, the Zenkov cathedral. Go there - it's the only one in town, you can't miss is. Next to it is a convent, then nuns of Deva Mariya. Ask for Yokhanna. Tell her I sent you, she knows my name._

I know this is much for her. But she'll make it. I know _my_ Audrey. She's capable of doing things like that, because she's strong. She survived here, until now, and she'll also reach Almaty and Yokhanna. Those nuns helped me and some of my Serbian friends, years ago, when we tried to free some girls out of the claws of white slavers. She'll also help Audrey now.

 _Did you understand that?_

She nods.

 _Shall I repeat it?_

She shakes her head. _Follow the river, lake, city, train south to Alamaty. Cathedral, nuns, ask for Johanna._

She got it right. I knew it. It's time to ease that grab around her shoulders. I even manage to give her a little smile.

 _And when will I see you you again?_

I have to say something to cheer her up. She's really expecting to see me again. But I only told her that story to cover for the case in which I won't even make it out of here alive.  
 _Let Yokhanna give you a dress to wear. Wait for me in the back of the cathedral, every afternoon from two to five. A nun praying in a church won't attract any attention. If I get there faster I'll wait for you there. You wait for two weeks, and if I don't show up you go to the US consulate and tell them everything._

That's risky. Most likely, they won't believe her. But it's less risky than any other option that I can think of. It would be safer for her if I come to her and contact the few friends that I have to get her out of the country without anyone noticing who she really is.

 _I'll wait for you,_ she answers silently. I can hear in in her voice how reassured she is now. I gave her something to hope for, a reason.

* * *

 _I'll wait for you._  
That sentence of hers is still in my head, while I lie here, on my back, thinking about her all the time. Everything hurts, I can barely move.  
It's quite a while since I last experienced such a beating. I guess my nose and my cheekbone are broken. I taste blood in my mouth and I'm not really sure where it comes from. Could also be a tooth that broke out. It's cold in here, without any clothes on. They are letting me freeze on purpose. Even the blanket that I had before all that is gone now. There's nothing but me and the cold concrete floor.

I cannot move. Even if I try.  
I'm hungry but they're not giving me anything. I wouldn't know how to chew it anyway, the way my jaws hurt. Maybe suck the bread until it dissolves. Well...

Audrey.

Where is she. Did she make it. Is she safe? Is she hurt? Is she also lying here, somewhere, in a cell, like I am, beaten up and bloody?  
I really hope not, though I can't tell for sure.

I lost sight of her when I started to distract the people on the boat. I swam out, giving them the impression that we were about to cross the river. They fired at me: rubber bullets. I'd been right in the beginning. They still want to give me back to the Russians. They did not kill me. But they didn't go easy on me either.

Getting hit by rubber bullets can break your bones. I guess the water braked the bullets just enough not to break my bones. But they still hurt massively. It was hard to swim on, not to drown, while they kept firing.

When the boat approached me I changed directions, the missed me. They had to take another turn to come to me again.  
We played that game several times. I always made them miss me and they had to drive a big circle and go back again and again. The soldiers on the boat had something like a net, which they tried to throw at me, to get me out of the water.  
At the fourth pass, the net got caught into the branch of drift wood that I'd been holding on to, ripping it out of my hands.  
My only help to swim was gone. I was really on my own, and after each other rubber bullet that hit me, I felt a bit more like drowning.

Ten minutes later I could fight them no more. I don't really remember how they tore me out of the water. I must have been close to drowning. They cuffed my hands and my legs and tied me to a hook on deck, while they then continued their search for Audrey.

They searched on the other river bank, thinking that we both had crossed the river.  
I tried to bite back the happiness. Don't smile. Don't ever show that your plan of fooling them succeeded.

After a really long time of searching there, they turned to the other side, shining their searchlight on the river and the left river bank.  
They didn't find her.  
Two hours later, they gave up. The sun was then already about to rise.

They brought me back to their compound and gave me hell, asking me where she is, where she's headed.

For the first time in months, I'm being tortured again _for something._ They don't just want me to suffer. They started to ask questions. Real questions!

I won't say anything. Never.  
I have a reason again to stay silent and to fight them. Even a better one than national security or the things that I've always fought for.

I hung in the chains watching my blood drip to the floor, while they kept beating me. She's was not there, like on the days before. The chair on which they'd put her during the interrogations was empty now. They kept asking me questions about her and our escape plans, which means that she made it away from here.  
They way to Almaty is long. And dangerous. I don't know if she'll make it all the way there, but at least she got away from here. She has a chance.

Unlike me.  
But that's okay.

.

.


	13. Свобода совести

Свобода совести

.

.

Three days... I guess.  
The came to me tree times, tearing me out of my cell, not letting go for hours. They did all the things that they can possibly do to a living creature, without killing it.

I knew that this was about to come, the second in which I spotted their boat on the river, closing in on me. I never had a chance to get away from this place. Did I try hard enough, after all?  
I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe I could have tried harder to get away. Run faster. Swim faster. But all that it would have changed is one crucial thing: I would have been closer to Audrey. Probably I would have led them right to her, instead of away from her.

No, things are good the way they are.  
I serve my time here. I pay for my sins. I even did something good by helping her to get away from here.

They questioned me for three days, always the same questions: Where did she go? Where were we headed? Who else is out there helping us? Who helped us escape?

I said no single word and I'm proud of it. I am. It felt good to see them worry. They are worried right now - they captured the First Daughter of the US and the whole world didn't notice. If she gets free, back home, telling the whole story, that will really shake the bilateral relations.  
It won't provoke a war, I guess. But some heavy sanctions.

Of course they want her back. It's a national security issue for them, to get a hold of Audrey again before she leaves their terrain. Even if she makes it to Kazakhstan - I'm sure they'll send some agents to get her back, even from over there. The Kazakh won't interfere. They don't even know what kind of an important person is probably on their territory now.

The time which I spent lying here, in my cell - I spent it writhing in pain or praying.  
It's been years since I prayed for the last time. I was never very religious. The people who were blindly following others into wars about things that nobody could ever really prove or define were always suspicious to me. I never believed in the bible stories. Heaven helps those who help themselves- that's more like me.

But I can't help myself anymore. I can help Audrey by keeping my mouth shut about her escape route.  
Other than that I can only lie here and let them do to me whatever they want to do to me. And pray. To whoever is out there to help her get through this.

Only gradually I began to realize the political issues, which are attached to Audrey being captured. The bilateral relations. The possible sanctions. The military ones. The economical ones.  
The mere fact of her being alive could harm the Chinese in so many ways that it keeps sending cold shivers down my back. They have to do everything to get her back. Letting her go, or letting her escape is no option. Too much is at stake for their whole country.

I was a damn fool not to realize that earlier. The Chinese can't let her go. They'll kill her on sight, I fear, given the possible consequences. It took me long to get to that conclusion.  
Should I have warned her? No, she probably knows that herself. She's been here for long enough, she's had the time to think this all through, I guess. More time than I had... all I did was to deny that she was alive at all. I was such a fool. Such a damn fool.  
They'll send every soldier they have to get her back or kill her.

And what about me? The only other US citizen knowing that she's alive? Will they really let go of me, sending me back to Russia? Can they even afford to send somebody away, who knows what I know? That it was them who captured Audrey Raines... no, Audrey Boudreau?  
Damn it, I hate that name. To me she'll always be Audrey Raines. The lovely girl from down the hallway, who worked with me, once. The one I fell in love with. That's how I'll treasure her. And not the picture of her here, bound to that chair, being questioned while they torture me to break her.

I'm worried. But not about myself.  
I'm worried about her.

Three more days... at least I guess.  
Three more days in which nobody came. No torture, nothing. Like if they had suddenly lost all interest in me.

It's been six days now since our escape, which I spent here not knowing where or how she is. I'll be going crazy soon. They didn't question me any more, even though my physical condition would have allowed it.  
I don't want to draw any conclusions: but I can't not do it.

There is only one possible conclusion.  
They got to her. She's dead. That must be it.

No, I won't cry, not now and not here. They could come any minute, tear me out of my cell again and continue questioning me. I even hope for it.  
I'd beg for it. Pray for it - to hear them ask me again where Audrey went.

But they didn't come for three days. They lost their interest in the answer to this question.

All I can do is to sit here and wait. I can't even walk anymore, what they did to me after they dragged me out of the river was too much. The burns which I already had before that, they still hurt. There are numerous new wounds. I guess I lost a lot of blood, too.

I've been sitting here for three days now and I continue for one more day. And even more.

On the fifth day, somebody comes. It's a man, wearing a black suit. He looks a bit like Cheng... no, can't be. That one's dead, that much I know for sure, I won't ever forget.  
But this man is an intelligence agent, for sure.

The two guards open the door to my cell for him and let him in.

I sit in my dark corner. I'm not gonna say anything, or do anything. Not even put hands on him - I can't.

He knows that.  
He comes over and crouches down in front of me, holding a pair of handcuffs with a long chain in between them in his hands.

 _Mr. Bauer,_ he begins.

I could spit into his face. Asshole. Tell me what you did to Audrey.

 _I've heard a lot about you, and it is really surprising for me to finally meet you here. A real pleasure._

Fuck yourself. Tell me what you did to her. I still don't say it out loud what I think.

 _I'm here to supervise your travel. You're no longer needed here,_ he says.

I'm no longer needed. They're sending me back to Russia. I could jump his throat, I want to, so desperately. I guess he can see that in my eyes. Should I ask about Audrey? Does he even know? For sure.  
But I decide to say nothing. It wouldn't change anything.

Somehow, he's surprised that I let him put the cuffs around my wrists without fighting him. He wants me to stand up but I just can't. Soon he realizes that and sends the guards back in. They drag me away, hauling me down the corridor, down the stairs. That's exactly the route that I took six days ago, with Audrey. Out of this hellhole.

I hope she made it. No, she didn't. Why else would the Chinese have stopped questioning me?

A truck with a sea container is parked behind the building. There we go.

But before they throw me inside that black whole, there's suddenly a command, telling them to stop.  
The guy comes back over to me. It's my last chance to ask about Audrey. Even though I'm afraid to hear it, I have to ask. I need to know.

As I look into his eyes, the hate inside me makes me do it: _Where is she?_

Now that guy even smiles. _Our troops found her when she tried to cross the border to Kazakhstan._

That doesn't answer my question. Is she dead or alive? Is he lying to me? _I wanna see her, a last time,_ I manage to grate.

 _They were ordered to shoot on sight,_ he smiles, bending down to me. _Boom! -_ he forms a gun with the fingers of his right hand, figuratively putting it to my head.

I don't believe him. _I wanna see her body._

He shakes his head. _Mr. Bauer, you're not in any place to make demands. We don't need you any longer now._

I have to be careful about what I say. _I don't believe a word you say, bastard,_ I hiss at him.

He just smiles and turns away, telling the guards to throw me into the container. They do it, closing the massive metal doors behind me. I'm trapped again, without any light, probably for weeks again, and even my hands are still in chains.

I start to scream. I scream and shout, kicking and beating against the walls again and again, all the time. I don't stop. It's the exhaustion that makes me collapse, and when I come to myself again I continue to do the same.

The container gets loaded onto a railroad car. It's of no sense that I still scream and shout, but it's the only thing I wanna do right now. I don't care about how much it hurts. I have to let this pain out. I could kill right now - anyone who comes into my sight. I've hardly ever experienced such rage.

Audrey is dead...  
No she's not. She can't be.  
It can't be true that after all I'm still alive and she's dead.

That guy was lying to me, for sure.

The harder I deny the things that he told me, the calmer I get.

Audrey is alive.  
She made it out of there.  
That guy only told me she was dead to stop me from telling anyone the truth. Nobody would believe me anyway. There's not even anyone who would listen. The guards in Russia don't even speak my language. They'll keep me locked up. Maybe I can tell the next ones who'll get me into their hands? It's hard to believe that they'd listen or care.

I start to pick around on the doors, to find something, a lock or a hinge. But the doors are massive, and the hinges and the locks are on the outside of the container. No chance.

I have to get out of here.  
I have to get away, I have to escape.  
I have to prove to the world that she's still alive.

.

.


	14. Свобода мысли

Свобода мысли

.

.

The travel to China had taken two and a half weeks. The travel back was just as long.

The first days I shouted, screamed and clamored.  
The days thereafter I just sat in a corner and cried.  
Then the pain from my wounds overwhelmed me. All that I'd been fighting for, all that had kept me up was gone. There was no reason to still be strong. No adrenaline that kept me going.

No matter how much I want to believe that Audrey is alive, there are ten per cent of my brain, in the back of my head that scream at me: accept the facts. The Chinese wouldn't have stopped torturing you if she were still alive. They wouldn't have sent you back to Russia, unless they don't need to you any more to question her.  
It's the same ten per cent who told me she's alive before. Now they're back, discomforting me, making me uncertain.

I am back at the point where I started from: believing that I'm going crazy, not knowing whether she's alive or not.  
I would do anything to get her out of there.

Damn it, no.  
She made it to Kazakhstan. The Chinese only let me go because they don't need me anymore: because she's gone.

No matter how often I tell myself to believe it, the doubts stay.

After some time, the container gets loaded onto a truck again and soon later arrives back at the prison. I haven't counted the days - the alternations between cold and less cold times. My mind had been consumed with other things.

It's night. At night time they can do their illegal trades more easily, I guess. The usual three guards bring me back into the building, straight to the medical ward, when they realize in what terrible shape I am again.

I stay silent, all the time. I let the doctor do whatever he does. That's the only good person I ever met around here. Wait: am I developing some kind of Stockholm syndrome?  
He's just one of them! He lets the guards pay him well just to patch me back up again so they can sell me out again. He's not my friend. I don't have any friends here.

After a few days only, they already bring me back to my cell.

As soon as the door opens, I can see the letters which I scratched into the wall next to the mattress: AUDREY.

These letters have waited for me.

Where is she right now? I guess three or probably three and a half weeks have passed ever since our getaway. If they didn't get her, she most likely followed the river for about a week. I hope she found some other clothes and some food. Usually, a field of vegetables is enough to get through. They're not guarded. As long as the stuff is eatable when it's uncooked, it'll keep you alive.  
I guess they're using the river water to water their fields. They won't be far away from the river bed.

If everything went well, she reached the lake - I forgot the name - and the city on its western end to get onto a train to Almaty. That could also take a week.

Summing it all up, she could be in Almaty now, at the convent, with Yokhanna. The old lady will watch over her well.  
She was probably already sitting in the cathedral during the last days, acting like she was praying, waiting for me.

 _I'm so sorry to disappoint you,_ I silently murmur as I kneel down and touch the letters on the wall. I'm letting her down. She's there, waiting for me, but I won't appear. I can't think of any way how to get out of here. Maybe, when they sell me out again. Maybe I'll get a chance then.

Though I'm not tired, I lie down on the mattress, in a position that her name on the wall is just right next to my head.

 _I'll wait for you,_ she said. I can see her saying it, in my memories. She was so full of hope then.

What will happen in a week? Will she continue to wait for me? I told her to go to the US consulate and tell them the whole story, but will she do it? Or will she continue to wait for me, every afternoon, in the back of the cathedral?

I'm not sure. But I know that she was never very happy when other's told her what to do. She makes her own decisions. She said she'd wait for me.

Maybe she won't even go to the consulate. Maybe she had enough time to think and to realize that this could be a big danger for her.  
I didn't think far enough when I told her to go to the consulate. I shouldn't have said that. I should have known at that point in time that the risk is too big. The Chinese could have spies in the consulate. They could have tapped the phones there. If they find out that Audrey is there before the cavalry arrives... I don't even want to continue that thought.

She's a smart girl. She thinks just like me, sometimes.  
That even draws a smile off my face. Yes, she really thinks like me. We had so many occasions when we'd finish the others' sentence or started to do the same thing, which often made us laugh, when we found out. Like once, when she tried to surprise me, by waiting for me at my car... while I waited at hers, having had the same idea, for over an hour, until she disappointedly appeared there. It was such a great evening.  
The whole time with her was great. That was the best time of my life.

I miss her.  
I've missed her ever since that morning, ten years ago, when I left her. Seeing her again in London made it only worse, not better. When she entered that room, I actually wanted to take her and run, far away from everything. She would have done it, probably. She would have said yes. In just that second in which I had her close to me, she proved to me that everything that we once had was still there. All the feelings. All the desire. All the trust. I never trusted any woman like I trusted her. She never let me down when I needed her.  
I saw that again when she followed me blindly, out of that Chinese prison. I still don't know what she had done to get the keys from that guard. Probably she let him have her... I don't wanna imagine that, even though it makes sense. She could have done that all the time, all the months before I appeared. But when saw me suffer, she did it. Whatever she did, she did it for me.  
I owe her everything and even more.

Damn it, I didn't even tell her how much she still means to me. Not in London - because I was afraid of shaking up her life, and not in China - because...? Damn it, why didn't I? I was so caught up in my own pain and in getting us out of that hell that I didn't tell her how much I still love her.

But she knows it anyway, I'm sure. She knows me just as well as I know her.

She won't got to the US consulate in Almaty. She'll stay with Yokhanna, she'll be waiting for me, no matter if takes two weeks, two months or even longer. She'll be there.

* * *

I can't get out of the Russian prison. The cell is always locked, the only push the food in through a little hole, on a paper plate. I have no chance to get out, even though that's the only thing I can think about. I have to try it when they hand me over to somebody else.

That doesn't take long this time, probably because I recovered quite quickly.

It's their standard procedure. A black bag over my head. Out of the cell, left, down the hallway, two floors down, right, right again and then there's the door.  
I await to be pushed into such a damn container again, but this time it seems to be different.

Somebody grabs my shoulder - quite softly - pushing me into a car. What the? Where are they taking me, with a car?

The black hood is still over my head, I can't see where we're going. But it is much more comfortable than the last times.

Half an hour later they slow down and stop. They tear the hood off my head.

I have to blink my eyes. I'm not used to daylight any more. It's blinding me.  
Finally I see where we are. We're on an airfield, the car stopped right next to a private jet. It's Global Express, one that could reach 75% of all states in the world starting from here.

The men who are sitting right and left to me, in the car, they're Russians. Most likely, they're in cahoots with the prison guards, securing me during the transport. Could I knock them out? I'll have to try on my way out. I could take one of their weapons and capture the plane.

While I'm still putting together a plan, the guy on my right side has already opened up his door and pulls me out into the daylight.

I have t-

Black. Everything goes black.

.

.


	15. Свободы воздушного пространства

Право на полёт из своей страны в другую

.

.

So much for my plan to hijack the plane. Well, they had to guess that I'd try that. They were well prepared. They are no beginners. They are just two men, giants, but they know how to handle me, keeping me on a short leash.

I guess they gave me some tranquilizer, when I got out of the car, to keep me down during the whole flight.

When I come to myself again I find myself lying inside the plane, one of the guards is waving a capsule with smelling salts under my nose.  
The engines are off. We're clearly on ground.

How long will my guards stay with me?

One of them pulls me up from the floor, pushing me over to the already open door. A wave of hot air comes in through the door. We're clearly in a hot country. Who is it this time, wanting revenge on me?

The sunlight's blinding me. I see five men and a black van waiting at the side of the plane. The plane didn't land on an airport. It landed on an airstrip, somewhere. All around here there's some scant vegetation, half desert, half steppe.

The five men are waiting for me. They are dressed in blue jeans, t-shirts and wear dark sunglasses. Not really looking like intelligence agents. More like terrorists, mafia or henchmen of some warlords. For god's sake, I don't even know on what continent I am. They are too far away to hear their voices or see their faces clearly.

The two Russians leave me no space. I try to struggle, but they're stronger.

I have to try to get away. Now. As long as the plane is still behind me I could try to run back into the plane and...  
I kick one of the Russians into the shin, making him stumble.

Right away, the other one already lies on top of me, strangling me. My hands are still cuffed. I can hardly defend.

Now even the five men who I am getting delivered to run over, their guns drawn.

 _¡_ _arriba las manos!_ I hear them shout to give up and raise my hands. My Spanish is good enough to understand almost everything they say. Spanish. This is Mexico, for sure.  
Of course I have enough old enemies here who still want to dig their claws into my flesh.

The Russian gets off me and then I'm suddenly keeling there, surrounded by five men who point their guns at me. I try to see if can recognize any of their tattoos, but they're unfamiliar. At least none of them has the Salazar tattoo.

One of them comes over and puts a black hood over my head again. That leaves me helpless. I can't fight anyone or anything who I don't even see.

They push me over to their van and the travel starts. The Russians are gone. I guess they'll have to find their own way back to their home country. Our van keeps rattling over unpaved streets somewhere in the outback.

I try not to think of what will await me when we reach our destination. I've had enough, I can't take that much more. I guess I'll just give in to it and hope that if I don't fight back, they won't hurt me that much. After all, I still have only one plan: find a way to get out of here. This is a totally new place for me. It means new chances to escape.

We don't travel very long. After only twenty minutes the car stops, and the men help me get out. They seem to be less hostile now, but I guess there are still at least three guns aimed at me. This is not the time to make my getaway. Not now, when I don't even know where I am, with that black hood still over my face.

They lead me into a house. The blazing sun and the hot air gets replaced by a cold, air-conditioned room.

 _¡arrodíllate!_ The men command. They tell me to get down to my knees.  
I do. There's no need to fight them now.  
My hands are still cuffed behind my back. Now they fix the chains to some kind of an anchor in the floor. I can't get up, even if I'd try.

They take the black hood off my head.

I'm in the middle of the main hall inside a beautiful hacienda. All of them are standing behind me, I can't really tell what's going on here.

 _Buen trabajo, hombres._ That's a voice I know! Very well! Though I never heard her speak Spanish before. It's strange to hear a familiar voice speak a new language. She's standing right behind me. _Por favor, déjanos en paz ahora._ She sends the others away. They say something unimportant and leave. I hear their boots on the marble floor.

Hearing that voice makes my heart jump.

She slowly walks around me, her view glued to me.

As soon as I can see her, having turned my head, my view is glued to her as well. She looks different. She really changed a lot.  
But right now she looks like she's shocked. Well, probably I am not really looking like anything she had expected me to look like. I haven't seen myself in any mirror in months, but I guess I look horrible.

 _Jack..._ , she finally says. Her voice is shaking. Not like before, when she gave commands to these guys.  
She kneels down in front of me. We're at eye level now.

Ever since I heard her voice, I know that not the Mexicans are behind this all. It's her. No-one else.  
 _Did_ you _pay to get me out?,_ I ask her, because she's obviously at such a loss of words that she doesn't know what to say.

She nods. _Officially, that group of Mexicans paid for you... to sell you to the Ukrainian mafia. The Serbians supplied us with some names._

 _They'll want me back in a few weeks, you know that... they'll come to the Mexicans and then they'll..._ They will all be after us if she doesn't hand me back over, to whoever paid a lot of money as a deposit. The Russians. The Mexicans. Maybe even the Ukrainians whose names they used, even though they weren't involved at all.

She nods again, adding, _we'll have to run._

She knows what she's up against, when we really pull through with that. We'll run away from half the world. We sit there for a while, in silence. Even though all that I almost feel safe for the moment. For the first time in... I can't even remember. Relief. Pure relief. I see how shocked she is, because of the state that I'm in. I must look like death warmed up. She's not the most communicate person on earth. I guess I'll have to say something to break the ice.  
 _Thanks, Chloe,_ I silently tell her.

She smiles back, saying _I owed you that one, Jack._

 _Right. Kind of._ That day in London, when I surrendered myself to the Russians to get her out seems to be light years away now. At least for me.

 _You look like hell,_ she says, slowly shaking her head, as if she couldn't believe it to find me again in such a bad shape.

 _Nevermind._ I don't want to talk about it. There are more important things: _What about Audrey?,_ I ask her.

She's taken aback by my question. _She's dead, Jack... you know that...,_ she hesitatingly says, suddenly not sure anymore if I really know it, if I forgot it, or if she's the one breaking the news to me. She looks like she's expecting me to explode.  
When I don't, she continues, _they buried her at Arlington._

Belcheck comes in, too. He has the keys to my handcuffs. I'm glad to see him.

 _Лепо је видети те, пријатељу._ It's nice to see you, my friend.

I'll have to talk to Chloe about Audrey later. When we're out of here.

.

.


	16. товарищи

товарищи

.

.

She took over my life, ever since that day in London. Unlike me, she didn't get a pardon from Heller. I guess she had no place to go after losing her hacker friends, so she followed Belcheck back to Serbia. He gave her the keys to my apartment in Belgrade, which is just one floor above his, and let her live there, ever since. He looked a bit worried when he told me about it - like he was about to confess a mistake, but he did nothing wrong. I really don't mind. Probably I would have done the same, hadn't I been captured.

It hadn't taken them very long to find a useful position for me when I first arrived in Belgrade, years ago - and I guess that they gladly affiliated a woman with Chloe's abilities, in return for granting her -relative- safety. But for sure, the Serbians are not the ones who are behind this rescue mission. I am not worth that much to them and me, getting captured by the Russians, wouldn't be much of a harm to them.  
This is Chloe's and Belcheck's mission. They organized that all. Belcheck had the necessary contacts into the underground world. Chloe had the abilities to either organize the funding or fake the transfers.

The Mexicans sent somebody to Russia to bid for me in that auction, months ago. They are a breakaway fraction of the former Villadoza cartel, one of Salazar's enemies. So even if they can still remember my name from somewhere, they'd for sure not be my enemies. Maybe that was why they were relatively humane to me. Chloe had contacted them with a fake story, offering them a lot of money for their services as a go-between, telling them that Belcheck represented an Ukrainian group that wanted me, and because of the political relations of Ukraine to Russia, none of their members could go there personally or bid for me directly.  
The Mexicans bought the story. They were only in it for the money. To them, all of this meant nothing. They handed me over to Belcheck at the hacienda. He put the black hood over my head again and dragged me out to his and Chloe's car, rudely pushing me in in the back. We agreed to make this look as real as possible. He didn't need to treat me carefully. By the time we drove away the Mexicans were probably laughing, about making such a lot of money with such an easy work, and laughing about the poor guy getting roughed up by the ones who they believed to be Ukrainians. They expected him to bring me back in four weeks. Chloe transferred fifteen million dollars to a cayman account as a deposit, in case they wouldn't bring me back in time. They told me all that during the drive.

As we were a few miles away from the hacienda, they took the black hood off my head and gave me the keys for my handcuffs. We had to get away from Mexico, as quick as possible. There could have been spies of their groups anywhere, and they are not allowed to find out that I'm not really a captive.

Belcheck and Chloe planned that getaway very well. We stopped at a cottage that they'd rented, but not for long. I got rid of the shabby prison clothes and trimmed the beard that had grown in the past weeks to look like the man on the picture in my fake Australian passport. Chloe brought that one from Serbia, where I have a real collection.

We boarded a ferry ship in Veracruz, which is now taking us to Havana. This is the first time that anyone of us can relax somehow. Out on the sea, we're away from everyone who could be spying on us or be a danger.

As I locked the door to my cabin behind me, I sank down to the floor, trying to realize what happened in the past 24 hours.  
Chloe is probably worried right now, because I wordlessly took the bag with my stuff that she'd brought along with me and locked the door from the inside. Does she really worry that I'd do something stupid?  
No. I just need a minute for myself.

I can hardly move. I must have been sitting here for an hour now. My thoughts are racing, but I can't put them in order. I can't focus on anything. I stare at the bull's eyes of a window on the other side of the cabin. To be in here feels like being locked up in a cell again.  
I don't feel free, even though I am. It will take a while.

I could go over to the bed... it looks real comfy. I don't even remember the last time I spent in such a wonderful bed. Must have been in Germany, half a year ago, when Belcheck and I travelled to London.

I can't go over there. I don't have the power to stand up.  
Looking at it, knowing that it is there, within reach... at my disposal... that's enough for now. Just as good as really lying in there.

I feel my hands tremble. Maybe the low blood sugar, cause I haven't eaten anything yet. It's time to get up. They are worrying for sure.  
They shouldn't worry about me. I'm safe, as safe as I'll ever be. I can go out there, down to the restaurant and buy myself something. I'm not used to that any more.

I don't know if that's also true for Audrey. She could be with Yokhanna now- then she's safe. If she didn't reach her, she's probably out there somewhere, straying around in the nether lands between China and Kazakhstan.

I don't deserve to be here. I should be with her, I should have a made a better plan for our getaway, or anything... having lost her that night feels like having let her down. I hope that she's not out there somewhere, hungry, or in danger... or even worse. Damn it, Jack, pull yourself together and do something against it! It's of no use to her if you sit her and wallow in self-pity!

I grab the door handle and pull myself up. Week-kneed, I make my way over to the bathroom in my cabin. My pants are only held by the belt I'm wearing, also the shirt is way too baggy. Chloe must have taken the clothes out of my wardrobe in Belgrade. It shows me how much weight I lost over the course of the past months. They once fit.

I refuse to look into the mirror, as I step into the shower. This tiny shower in a second-class cabin on an old Mexcian ship feels like the Ritz.  
Whenever something good happens to me these days, I'm always reminded of Audrey: I don't deserve this luxury. I can't let myself go and just enjoy it. Not until I know that she's safe.

As I step out of the shower I again avoid to look into the mirror. I hate to see my sunken cheeks and I hate the beard even more. I only wear it to look like the picture in my fake passport. My hair is not too long, but it looks shabby. I should go and let someone take care of that, to better fit the image of a traveling Australian high school teacher. Only one of the many fake stories that I've created to always have a way out.

I leave my cabin and knock at Chloe's door, just on the other side of the hallway.  
Belcheck opens up. They're happy to see me, I guess they were already worried what took me so long. I just hope that don't start to ask questions about what happened to me in the past months. I don't want to talk about that because I'd hate to see the pity in their eyes when I tell them what happened. Above all, I don't want to think back.

Chloe sits on the bed. I wonder when I've seen her for the last time without any computer around. Here on the ship she has no internet connection. I guess she feels just as stripped as I do, when I don't have a gun.  
There's a little table on the other side, where I sit down. Belcheck locks the door and comes over to me.

 _We have tickets from Havana to Budapest,_ he says, as he sits down on the other chair. _Two more days on the ship, the flight leaves on Wednesday afternoon._

Tickets. Of course- they're planning to get me 'home'. From Mexico to Havana, a flight to Budapest and then home to Belgrade. It's not that far from Budapest, the border to Serbia is not controlled very tightly and nobody expects me to travel via Havana or Budapest.

 _I'm not going,_ I answer.  
They're both taken aback by my words.

 _What?!_ Chloe slips off the bed and comes over to me. _Why?_

 _I have to search for Audrey,_ I answer.

Now she she thinks I've gone crazy. She and Belcheck exchange worried glances. Then she crouches down in front of me. _Jack,_ she begins, _Audrey..._

 _She's not dead, Chloe._

 _She got shot in London. She didn't make it. The whole nation mourned her death along with James Heller. And you tell us that this all isn't true?_

I have to stay calm. At least for now. She doesn't believe me. _She's alive, Chloe,_ I repeat, _I saw her._ I hate to talk about the moments which have been the most precious ones of my recent life. And I hate to talk about what happened to me and Audrey.

Chloe is still worried. _Jack, she was officially pronounced dead by the British authorities. They wouldn't make such a mistake. Not when it's the First Daughter of the United States._

 _They did._

 _Jack..._ , Belcheck says, to help Chloe, _come on,_ _we drove to Heller. Even I saw her coffin._

 _The coffin, right._ I never thought about how they did it. How did the Chinese fake Audrey's death? How did they get her out? How could they fool the Secret Service, the British authorities, all the US agencies? Did nobody check if Audrey was really dead? The doubts that I always had try to come back. But I push them away.

Chloe comes slightly closer. _Are you sure you saw her?,_ she silently asks. I can see her worrying about me. In the corner of my view I can see Belcheck shake his head in disapproval. He doesn't believe one word that I say.

 _Yes, I am sure,_ I answer. She makes me think. Am I really sure? Yes, of course, I am. She was there.

 _Where is she now?,_ Chloe asks.

I don't know. I don't even know if she's still alive. _I don't know for sure. China. Or Kazachstan._  
I guess it took me too long to answer. Not even Chloe seems to believe me.

 _Where did you see her?_

 _In China. The Russians gave me to them before they handed me over to your Mexican partners. Audrey was there._ I hate to talk about my time there. _She was there. They had her, all the time, ever since London. They questioned her and brought me there to use me as a leverage against her._

Chloe takes a deep breath. She and Belcheck exchange worried glances again. They doubt my sanity.

 _We were both held by the Chinese. We tried to make a getaway,_ I go on. I have to tell them things to make them believe my story, _we got separated and I didn't see her again._

Finally, Belcheck also stands up and comes over to me.  
I still stare at the floor, at a point somewhere in between Chloe and him.

 _They can't just kidnap the daughter of the President of the United States and get away with it,_ he speaks, _somebody would notice._

 _And if they did notice?_ I stand up now, too, looking into his eyes, _What if they just haven't found her yet? They wouldn't tell the world._

Chloe has to go between us. She sees that my level of anger raises uncontrollably now.

 _Jack,_ she says softly, lying her hand on my arm, _I can check this when we reach Havana. I'll check her medical records and the Secret Service orders._  
She has to say that to keep me calm, I know. There's no other reason- because they still don't believe me.

I'm not tired, but I tell them that I'll take some rest, to get out of here.  
I can't afford to argue with the only two friends that I still have on this planet.  
But if they don't believe me... damn it, I can't prove anything. They don't believe the word of a man who got abused both physically and mentally, who got drugged for questioning and tortured. Well, I guess I wouldn't believe the word of such a person either.

Damn it.

.

.


	17. верить

верить

.

.

Did I really think they were gonna believe me?

No. The Secret Service can't have made such a mistake. They couldn't make a mistake in recording Audrey's death. Or could they? She's the First Daughter. Is the procedure a different one, to record the death of a member of the presidential family? Even in situations when the cause of death was 'obviously' clear?  
The longer I think about this, the more I start to doubt myself and everything. It's hard to stay sane, after all this. I know that they don't want to believe me. Even I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw her in China for the first time.

There's a knock on my door. I'm sure it's Chloe.  
I don't want to open up. She'll just try to talk me out of this, I guess.  
And it sit here, by the wall, really comfortably. Don't even wanna get up.

She knocks again.  
Damn it, she took a real effort to get me out of that hellhole. She deserves it that I at least open up.

As I do, she pushes past me, into my room, swiftly closing the door behind her.

 _He's asleep, I have some time,_ she tells me, and walks over to the bulls eye to look out. Her cabin doesn't even have a window.

I wonder why Belcheck is sleeping over there... are they really sharing a cabin? For the sake of their cover story or for real? None of my business, I guess.

 _Have you come here to tell me I've gone insane?,_ I directly ask her. Chloe doesn't need sugar-coating.

She shakes her head, _no._

 _Why then?_

 _Let's say I believe you._

 _You don't. I can clearly hear that._

 _Let's say I did. Because I really want to,_ she sighs. _I'm gonna need a few details to make investigations._

Fair enough. I walk over to her and also look out of the bulls eye. There's only water out there. It'll take two more days to reach Havana. Long time ago that I was there.  
 _Go ahead, ask me what you wanna know._ This is gonna be an awful conversation, I feel it coming.

 _Where did you see her for the first time?_

 _In China. I don't know where, exactly. The Russians sold me to them for a few weeks, they put me into a container and shipped it there, I guess through Kazakhstan. The travel didn't take more than two days after the container was loaded from the Russian rail gauge to the Chinese one. We must have been in prison somewhere close to the border._  
So far, so good. That were facts. They weren't the painful part of the story.

Chloe sat down on the edge of my bed. I haven't even used it yet. I'm somehow stuck to that place next to it, in between the bulls eye and the bedside table, where I put a blanket on the floor. It's strange but I feel more comfortable down there.

 _Did they bring the two of you together there for a reason?_

I nod my head, _yes._ I take a deep breath, _They were questioning her. She obviously hadn't talked too much in the months before. They brought me there and tortured me to make her give up classified information._

 _Such as?_

 _White House protocols... some access points. I didn't hear all of their questions._ I take the bottle of water from the bedside table with me and sit down on the blanket on the floor. _She answered them,_ this is so hard to say. Am I betraying her by saying that? I stare at the bottle of water in my hands and start picking at the label.

 _Is she still there?_

 _I don't know._ I shrug. _One night she came to me in my cell after she somehow managed to get a hold of a bunch of keys. We tried to get away and then we got separated on our way out. I don't know where she is,_ this is so hard to say: _I don't even know if she's still alive._

We sit there in silence, Chloe and I. I don't know if she believes me now.

A knock on the door startles us after a while. It's Belcheck, looking for her. He obviously already worried where she was.

They leave me alone while I still sit at my place, staring at the empty bed.  
I finally decide to sleep on the floor.

* * *

 _Jack!_

It's Chloe's voice, waking me up again. I don't know how many hours I slept, but it's dark now. Only the small lamp on the bedside table is on. She looks worried somehow, probably because she found me sleeping on the blanket on the floor.

 _How did you get in here?_ I tiredly rub my eyes and roll over to lie on my back. She sits right next to my head - with a computer on her lap.

 _I have the second key to your cabin,_ she admits, showing me that half-smile that's so typical for her. Like she was telling me 'well, you know, in case you try to something stupid, like try to kill yourself'.  
 _You're not gonna like this, Jack,_ she says and turns the computer around to let me see the screen.

It's Audrey's death certificate. Died 10:32pm, 25th of September 2020, London, abdominal shot.  
That's nothing suspicious yet. I always expected such a document to exist.

 _Who signed it?,_ I ask.

She scrolls down. It's a Dr. Ahmad Khan, working for the London Red Cross Emergency Health Services district. It got cross-signed in the witness section by the driver of the ambulance, a man named Francis Spencer.

 _And?_ I still don't see it.

 _I found nobody with that name in the employee database of the London RCEHS. Not the driver, not the doctor. Not as employees and not as volunteers._

I almost shoot up, the adrenaline rushing. _So it's a fake?_

 _It could be possible that the records got deleted... or that I just didn't find them._

I know how good she is. _You would have found them if they existed,_ I say.

For the first time, as we sit here, almost in darkness, I feel that she's starting to believe me.

 _I thought you had no internet connection...,_ I say.

She smiles. _There's a very important guy up in first class. A hedge fonds manager on a holiday trip. Very busy. He has a satellite phone... need I say more?_

 _No._ I smile back at her. She tapped into his connection.

She opens up the laptop again and shows me another document. It's the US recognition of the British death certificate. _There was no autopsy,_ she says, pointing at one field in the document. Beneath there's a list of people. _All the Secret Service and MI5 members were questioned short after her death. They have 13 eye witnesses who saw her get shot._

 _There was no legal need for an autopsy,_ I conculude, _I guess James Heller wouldn't have wanted it either that her dead body gets mutilated like this, when it's such a clean-cut case._

She just says yes and puts the laptop away, sitting there, in front of me, now knowing what to say.  
We always were friends. But never were the kinds of friends who talked a lot. We were there when someone needed something. We'd fight, we'd lie for each other... I even surrendered to the Russians for her. But I'm at a loss of words now because I just don't know how it is to talk to her.

 _Thanks for believing me,_ I finally say.

 _If I had believed you I wouldn't have had to search for these documents,_ she dryly answers.

Yes, that's Chloe.  
And then we sit again in silence. I know that she wants to tell me something, but she doesn't know how to put it in words.

 _What's up?,_ I finally ask her. I hate the silence.

 _Thanks for going to Russia instead of me._ It literally breaks out of her. She probably was afraid to say it. _I still don't know why you did. I wouldn't have survived a day there._

She's nervous now. I hear that.  
 _It's okay, Chloe. You lost a lot when you helped me get away four years earlier. Now I was my turn._

She was never very good in talking to other people. When she's nervous she doesn't even dare to look into the other's eyes. Right now, she's sitting there, having hugged her legs, staring at the ground between us.

 _I guess I was a little suicidal, half a year ago,_ I add. _Hearing 'bout Audrey's death was all too much._

She turns her head, but she still doesn't dare to look at me. _I can relate,_ she whispers.

I shouldn't have said that. I made her remember Morris and Prescott. Hesitatingly I stretch out my hand and put in on her shoulder. That's not enough. I pull her over, and take her into my arms.

We're both sitting here, thinking about the ones we've lost. At least I haven't lost Audrey completely. I still have a chance while she doesn't have one any more. It's horrible to imagine what it would have felt like to lose Kim and Teri like she had lost Morris and Prescott.

Eventually we end up sitting at my blanket at the floor, leaning against the wall, sitting side by side. She's finally opening up a little. We say more words to teach other than we did overall in the past ten years. It's painful to tell her about Russia, about Sengala, and about my stay in China, seeing Audrey again and losing her to incertitude again.  
She tells me about her time at open cell, and the past six months in Serbia- even about Belcheck. Well, I already suspected that.

I am endlessly glad that I have a friend back in my life- one that is loyal enough to believe me even if nobody else does.

She's going to help me find Audrey.  
At the end of the night, she even promises.

.

.


	18. Гавана

Гавана

.

.

Havana is hot and humid - even though it's only End of March. Compared to the cold Russian winter that I just came from, I should enjoy it - but I can't. I'm wearing a white shirt with long sleeves to cover the few wounds and bruises that I still have on my arms. I'm not allowed to attract any attention around here.

Chloe and I stand at an open Bistro, still close to the harbor, at a high table. I watch Belcheck who is on the other side of the street, where the reception was better. He's calling one of our friends in Serbia, who'll contact Yokhanna for us. We can't do it directly- too dangerous for anyone involved.  
Our friend is working for a relief organization in Montenegro that always supported the convent in Almaty. It's the only secure way to get in contact with Yokhanna. It must be subtle enough. Some years ago, we relied on their connection when we had to get a girl out of the hands of a bunch of white slavers - who had obviously taken the _wrong_ girl in the eyes of the 'uncle' of Belcheck. Igor. They all call him 'uncle' even though I don't even know who he's actually related to or not. It's the guy who rules the town.

I helped Belcheck sometimes, when he did him a 'favor' - but I haven't met him more than two times in four years. That's good. I wouldn't want to meet the 'uncle' more often. I guess Belcheck must be even subtle enough now not to let the 'uncle' get wind of what he and Chloe were doing during the last days.

I've hardly ever been so tensed up.  
Belcheck was not amused when Chloe told him about the signatures on Audrey's British death certificate. They prove nothing, he said. Actually, he's even right with that. Nothing was proven by the fact that two unknown persons signed that piece of paper.  
But it is a first lead that supports my story: that she could very well be alive. Nobody made an autopsy, nobody took a DNA sample or anything else. The doctor on call recorded her death, probably it was even him and the other guy who drove her to a nearby hospital, followed by an MI5 car, and that was it. A mortician was called to provide the casket and bring her to the airport - a noble company, one that usually also works for the royal family. It seems like the British prime minister saw it as his country's duty to do this for Heller. The British Home Office ordered the mortician only a few hours past Audrey's death. Chloe found some documents by now. That guy seems to be trustworthy.  
Maybe the unknown drivers of the ambulance car switched the bodies. That's a possible scenario. If not, there must be one more scenario that we just haven't thought about yet.  
Because she's alive. I know it. Nobody can talk me out of this.

Belcheck is finished now. He's coming back over.  
The tension grows.

'What would you do if she was in Almaty?' he asked me, earlier, between his phone calls.  
I'd go there and get her.  
He told me I was crazy to do this. The risk was horribly high. I am a Russian prisoner on the run, still sentenced to life. I can't go to Kazakhstan on any possible route. Not through China, not through Russia, and all the other possible routes sound even worse: Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan through Afghanistan or Iran. Rough part of the world. And Audrey seems to be right in the middle of it.

He stands next to Chloe now, taking a sip of his coffee.  
I know that he's just trying to act natural, like a usual tourist, that's what our visas say. But I could jump his throat for not telling me right away what the guy from Montenegro told him. He notices that. But we all have to keep a low profile.

 _She's not there,_ he finally says.

My heart sinks.

 _Never arrived._

Anger. Helplessness. Worry. The need to shout out loud. That's all there within the blink of a second.  
But I have to maintain our cover.  
I'm gonna bottle up all this anger, to unleash it later. There will be an occasion to release it, I'm sure.

 _Is he sure?,_ I ask Belcheck, _Did he talk to her personally?_

 _Yes. She was surprised to hear from him. Nobody came to her or anyone else there._

He doesn't like that I ask back. He doesn't like this whole idea. He only does this because he's my friend and Chloe probably talked him into it as well.

 _What are you gonna do now?,_ Belcheck asks me.

I have no idea. That's probably also how I look like, now, behind my dark sunglasses.

 _You should come with us._

 _No._ Did he really say 'us', expecting Chloe to go back to Serbia with him? I'm glancing sidelong, at her. She's caught in the middle. Will she keep her promise, helping me find Audrey?  
I can't do this to her. For her, it's a real danger to go back to the US, where they're still treating her as a fugitive.

 _I can't come with you. I have to sort this out,_ I say, although I have no idea to do this.

 _How?_

That goddamn question. If I knew the answer I wouldn't still be here. _I have to go to Washington DC. See what I can do there._

 _You wanna got to the White House and tell them your story?_ Belcheck laughs.

 _Heller has to..._

 _Heller is no longer in office,_ Chloe cuts in. I didn't know that.

 _Why? ... unimportant. Then it's even easier to get to him._ In my mind, I'm already going through the security details and plans. There will be a chance to contact him, there has to be. I'll find out where he lives.

 _I wouldn't say so,_ Chloe says, _he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I'm not sure in what condition he is._

 _He will remember his daughter._ Audrey meant everything to him. She's the very last thing he'd ever forget.

 _And if not?,_ Belcheck asks again, _Or w_ _hat if nobody of them believes you?_

 _Something will come up._ I take my cup of coffee and finish it in one draught. Can't stand these questions any longer. Have to go. Even if they're my friends, this is not their war. It's mine. They obviously don't want to participate in my war. _Gotta go._

As I already take my bag to leave, I hear him say _W_ _ait._

I halt for a moment. He's standing there, on the other side of the table. I wish I could read thoughts - does he want to knock me out and drag me home to keep me from doing something stupid? A year ago, I did that on one occasion, to him. But that was different. I was a dead drunk bar fight and not a plan to rescue the First Daughter of the US.

 _You're my friend, Jack,_ he begins, _I'm not trying to talk you out of this because I'd be too scared to pull through with your plans. Your plans are awful. You shouldn't do this. You said it yourself that they told you they shot her. They stopped questioning you about her. She never arrived in Almaty, we just got that confirmed. There's nothing left you could save._

 _That's not good enough for_ _me. That's exactly what they wanted to make me believe. I won't rest until I see her body_. I hate to say these words. After all, he's right. I could very well be about to try to rescue a dead person. _You did enough for me, Belcheck. I can do this alone and I will. Whatever you say won't stop me._ Finally, I take my bag again. _Have a save trip home. Thanks for everything._

I hate to leave them like that. They just saved my life and I'm already throwing myself back into danger again. But I don't owe them to step back and enjoy the life that they've given me back. I have to do this. Audrey is out there. The whole world has given up on her. But I won't.

For a second I have a look at Chloe, but she won't come with me, I can see that.

I'm already a few steps away from the diner, having left wordlessly, when she catches up with me. _I can't go back to the States, Jack._ She's apologizing.

 _It's okay. You don't have to,_ I say, but keep on walking.

She gives me a sheet of paper with her phone number on it. _Any hour,_ she says. I can call her at any time. Even if she doesn't come with me, that's gonna help me.  
Finally, I stop walking and give her a short hug as a good bye.

And now I have to find a boat that'll bring me to the US.  
I haven't been home in over four years.

.

.


	19. мертвая тишина

мертвая тишина

.

.

All the way from Florida up to Washington DC, I only stopped once. It was somewhere close to Savannah, when I was so tired that I already thought I'd crash the car.  
I got a few hours of sleep. Then I continued to drive.

I cannot waste one second. Every hour that I sleep, I feel like I'm stealing these hours away from Audrey. What if she got hurt during our getaway? What If they snatched her back and she got hurt then? What if she's suffering, while only I can get help? I have to get her out of there ASAP. Even if isn't hurt - she should spend one more day there.  
Sleeping, I can't help her. I feel like I'm just wasting time.

It didn't take me long to find out that there had been a big funeral for her, half a year ago. All official honors. She got buried somewhere close to David Palmer in Arlington, the place that was officially reserved for Heller - who would have ever thought she'd end there first.

I arrived at Arlington after driving through the night. It's the first place to go. I'm pretty sure that Heller will come. He resigned due to Alzheimer's. He doesn't have anything to do. Audrey was his whole life.  
There was no day, sixteen years ago, in which I didn't visit Teri's grave. I'm sure he'll also show up here, today. I just have to wait.

Though I don't have that much money on me, I buy a single red rose at the flower stand at the entrance to the cemetery. I buy it for the living Audrey, not for the 'dead' one.

It's hard to be here.  
I hate the thought of having to read her name on a tomb stone.  
Her grave is not very hard to find. It's in the middle section, in the most beautiful part of the whole grounds.

I approach it from the back side. I don't want to read the name. Goddamnit, no. It shouldn't have ever come that far.

I failed her in London. I shouldn't have trusted Kate with Audrey's security. I should have surrendered to the Chinese, to get her out. Or go there myself to protect her. Whatever I did, it was wrong. This has been haunting me for the past six months already, but now, standing only a few yards away from her 'grave' it was worse than ever.

I failed her so my times.

After China. I should have stood up to Heller and all their accusations. _I_ should have been there for to help her recover. Not that douche Boudreau.

I failed her earlier, when I faked my death and didn't even tell _her_ that I was still alive. Chloe knew. Even Tony and Michelle knew. But the one I loved most didn't.

That's twelve years ago now.  
Back then she stood at my grave, reading my name there while most likely she cried her eyes out and didn't even know I was still alive.  
I'm a goddamn coward to stand here, behind the grave, just not to read her name.

Go over there, have a look at it.  
Finally, I bring myself to do it.

 _Audrey Boudreau  
born Heller  
October 4, 1971  
September 25, 2020_

She is alive. She is alive. She's not down there. This is a meaningless stone, like there's one in L.A. with my name on it!

Still, it brings me to my knees and I feel like I can't get up again. I feel like that stone is crushing me, bound to me, drowning me.  
She's alive, I keep telling myself.

But that's of no use. I lost her during our getaway. I made it out of China - again - and she's still there. I've failed her again.

I take the rose and stick it into the grass in front of the tombstone. And then I sit there, for half an eternity.

* * *

Heller arrives around eleven.

An entourage of secret service men pour into the cemetery, securing it. One of them heads straight towards me.

I slowly get up from that spot in front of Audrey's grave. How long have I been sitting here? Two hours? Three? Doesn't matter.  
He wants to shoo me away before Heller comes but I won't let him. Instead, I start to argue with him, telling him that I have a right to be here.  
This all won't matter any more once Heller comes over. When he recognizes me, he'll call his attack dogs off.

The man and I are still arguing, while Heller comes closer. I've offered him twice now that he should search me for guns and then just let me be here because I also have a right to mourn for Audrey. He obviously doesn't know who I am or what kind of a connection to Audrey I had.

Heller is coming over now. He sees us argue and just as I expect, he calls out to the Secret Service agent to stop.

He's ten yards away.  
I look directly into his eyes - but he doesn't respond. He doesn't even recognize me. Is it because of the beard and the longer hair?

 _Who are you?,_ he directly asks me.

He is so different from the man I once knew.  
 _Jack Bauer,_ I answer. He has to remember my name. Or my voice. After all that we've been through! After all the things that happened and which inextricably linked our lives!

For the split of a second there's a reaction. His features changed.  
But after that second, he's back to how he was before.

He looks at Audrey's grave. There's just the lawn and the single red rose that I stuck into the grass in front of the tombstone.

 _Did you know my daughter?,_ he asks me.

I can't believe it. He really doesn't know who I am. _Yes I did,_ I silently tell him. I wonder: does he realize that it was me who put that red rose there? Can he link the two things?

Heller steps forward to the grave, while the Secret Service agent pushes me a few yards back to keep me at a safe distance.

 _How did you get to know her?,_ Heller asks me, while he still stares at the rose.

 _We worked together. At DOD._ It's like talking to a complete stranger.

He nods and smiles sadly. Maybe he's remembering something of his times at DOD. Again he looks over, at my face.  
Damn it, it's me! Remember me!

 _Did you know her well?_ , he asks.

I'm not sure what to answer. Will he believe the truth, if I say that I was involved with her? Or will the Secret Service agents think I'm a total liar and bring me away in that very second? Audrey Heller can't have been involved with that strange guy, they must think.

 _I knew her well,_ I say, finally. I can't talk to Heller. I had hoped that he'd recognize me and I planned on telling him everything that happened to me and Audrey from London until now.  
But this is no longer an option. The Secret Service men will never believe a word I say. He won't even know what I'm talking about.

 _My deepest condolences, Sir._  
I step away. The Secret Service agents are more than just glad that I'm out of their primary perimeter. Heller has probably already forgotten that I was there at all. He's just drowned into the name on the stone.

I head back to my car and get in.  
So far, I've reached nothing. Plan A is not an option. Heller can't help me.  
I have to come up with something else.

.

.


	20. разведывательное

разведывательное

.

.

My plan B was risky. Unnecessary. And led me into trouble.  
I really lost track of what was going on at home. Most of my old friends from CIA or Division are either dead or retired long ago. I couldn't just walk into Langley and tell them my story. They wouldn't have believed me.

Chloe got me the address of the only CIA affiliate I could think of: Kate Morgan.

It was a shot in the dark. I thought she was still in London - actually I only wanted to talk to her. It surprised me to hear that she had left CIA after London. And it surprised me even more that she was back in the states, in Pittsburgh. That was worth the ride, it only took me five hours to get there. It was already dark and in the evening when I arrived at the address that Chloe had given me.  
I don't know what went on inside her head, when she saw me through the spy hole after I rang the doorbell. I'm pretty sure she went to open the door with a gun in her other hand. I do that as well. People like _us_ do it like that.  
She didn't open at first, though I guessed she was there. Probably she thought I had come to kill her, after what happened to Audrey.  
It's her fault.  
But it's also mine. I won't blame her any more than I blame myself.

I showed her the empty palms of my hands, standing in front of her door, hoping that she'd see it. She finally did, and opened up.

She was afraid to talk, even to look at me, at first. Not even the gun that she hid from me, behind the door blade made it better. I didn't even have a gun on me that I could have threatened her with.

After she finally let me in, I started telling her what I knew.

Thirty minutes later, they already were at the door, having surrounded the house: Langley. Of course they wouldn't just let her go. They kept watching her every step - and I tapped into their perimeter as well. I must admit that I wasn't even too sad about that. Kate couldn't have helped my anyway.

They took me with them, to their local office, for questioning.  
I sat in the room with a young officer who listened to what I had to say. Agent Wilson. He did not believe one word of it, I guess. Maybe he thinks I want revenge on whoever tortured me and now I'm making this all up. If he only knew!

I can't prove anything. I can't prove that she didn't die in London. I can't prove that she's alive and held by the Chinese. I can't even prove that I was in China. To all the US intelligence services, I was officially 'a Russian prisoner' who they hadn't expected to be free at all.

I must be careful: they could at any time hand me back to the Russians. Not officially, of course. But I guess the CIA would be pleased with having a person at hand who they could secretly treat to the Russians in return for someone more valuable. Nobody would ever notice or charge them.  
I'm not of any value to them now, it seems. Thank god, Chloe sent me a copy of my presidential pardon. That got me out of there again - for now. I guess they wouldn't respect that pardon, if it came in handy for them.

I'm sure they're keeping an eye on me. For now, I let them.

I have no proof that Audrey is still alive. When I told the guy to exhume her casket for a DNA sample of whoever they buried instead of her, he almost laughed. _No way,_ he said, _not the President's daughter. You did some very great things for our country, way back in the past, Mr. Bauer, and that's the only reason why we're still talking._

But while they're officially showing me a half-assed approach to this all, I'm sure that in the background, somebody is doing something. They would never tell me what they are really doing. But they have to do something now. At least check if my story could be plausible.

I took a cheap room somewhere here in Pennsylvania for the night. Even though they brought me back to the street in which Kate lives, to let me get back to my car -which they surely searched in the meantime- I didn't ring at her doorbell again. I wouldn't know what to talk. I wouldn't want to bring her into any kind of a situation in which she'd feel obliged to offer me to stay. Seeing her face again reminded me of so many awful details of this day that I can really do without it.

I took my bag with me, took a shower and now I'm lying at the bed in my motel room, staring at the ceiling, then at the dark TV screen, out of the window and back at the ceiling.  
I'm really tired but I can't sleep. To sleep feels like to betray Audrey. I have to get her out, I can't waste any time. This is nonsense, but it is how I feel right now. Wasting my time with something like watching TV is even worse than sleeping. I switched it off again after only a few seconds. There's nothing interesting on the news anyway. I couldn't care less about health care budget or disloyal politicians.

Where is she? I don't know

Did she make it? I'm not sure.

Is she alive? I hope.

It's time to do something which I haven't done in over six months. I take out the phone and google her name. There are lots of pictures of her on the web, of when she accompanied her father to official events or foreign state visits. She was a member of the White House family. Her life had been open to the public.  
When I first heard about Heller's campaign, still during the primaries, I started to read the news before going to bed. In the two years before London I always went to sleep like that: reading the latest news about Heller, hoping to find her on some of the pictures as well. I often did.

She looked happy, on most of them.

That bootlicker Boudreau was with her, on some of them. I never liked him. Why didn't I? Was there a real reason or was it just the fact that these were pictures where he was holding hands with _my girl_? I have to admit that Audrey looked happy whenever he accompanied her. When he was there, she looked happier than when she sat alone, somewhere on a stage, behind Heller. I guess he gave her a feeling of safety, one that she desperately needed. He was there for her. I wasn't.

I fucked it all up. I fucked up my own life, twelve years ago, when I raided the Chinese embassy. Everything went downhill from there. I lost her, I lost my identity, I lost my freedom. My decisions killed Paul. I made her hate me. I broke her heart and trust.  
There's no single day in which I don't regret having done all these things. I could add so many more mistakes to this list. It seems to be an endless list.

As I scroll through the pictures, I mainly stick to the ones that only show her, not Heller, not Boudreau. The douche is now under house arrest, for treason - he will be, for the next fifteen years. Quite a harsh sentence, I guess, but I won't complain.

How would my life have turned out to be if I hadn't made all these mistakes? What if I had stayed with her, all the time? I could have laid down my arms and stayed out of all the trouble. Probably I would have kept working with her, at DoD. Maybe I would have later even joined Heller's staff. I could have lived in Washington with her, for all these years, instead of traveling the world, always on the run from somebody else.  
I could have married her.  
We could have had children. A family.

I fucked it all up.

The phone still in my hands, I finally fall asleep. Like always, in the years before London.

.

.


	21. исчезновение

исчезновение

.

.

Chloe did some research for me, on Agent Wilson. 27 years old, special forces training, also graduated from law school. It looks like he already solved some severe cases. She secretly logged the access IPs and times to the British servers on which she had found Audrey's death certificate and the missing employee files.  
Two hours after talking to Wilson, there was already an access to these documents, from someone on the outside.  
He's at least working on the case. I'm glad.

I haven't heard of Agent Wilson or anyone else from CIA so far. It's ten thirty in the morning and I just woke up from the most refreshing sleep that I've spent in the past months. This time, I even slept at the bed, unlike at the ship to Havana.  
It's wonderful to lie here. No missed calls.

I just roll over and crawl back under the covers to sleep a few more hours. I should start to take better care of myself, eat more than only fast food that I buy at gas stations that I randomly stop at, should take a long shower and see if some of the superficial wounds that I still have need attention.  
Later. Not now.

The phone is lying next to my head, in case Wilson calls.

Two hours later, I wake up again but there is still no missed call.

I take a shower and today I even get rid of the beard that I've been wearing ever since Havana. I don't need it any longer to maintain a cover story for a fake name. The CIA knows exactly where I am. There's no hiding now and also no need to.

For the first time in over four years I'm using my real identity again. It's a relief. Liberating. I don't have to care to take the right 'wrong' documents with me. I don't have to care about fitting a picture or remembering a story. If somebody asks, I'll just say my real name. This is something that I really missed, more than I ever admitted to myself.  
It may not be a big change use a fake name - but it keeps nagging at one, because it means you're disloyal to yourself and to anyone around you.

I better call Wilson. He gave me a card with a number on it. That's only a router, not his personal number. But better than nothing.

Out of a pure habit I pack my things and get ready to go. Maybe I'll come back here, for one more night, maybe not. I have absolutely no plan. It'll depend on what Wilson has to say.

It's ringing twice. Then a female voice answers _Law Enforcement Pennsylvania, good afternoon._

What a bush-league cover for the CIA. _Jack Bauer for Agent Robert Wilson,_ I tell her.

I hear her type something into a computer. Five seconds later she's back on the phone. _I'm sorry, I can't patch you through. Do you want to leave a message?_

 _No, thanks. When will he be back?_

This time she's quicker, telling me that she's not allowed to tell me.

The CIA has always been a strange bunch of people. I hang up and get to my car, but I have no idea where to go. Back to Washington? That makes just as little sense as staying here.  
Finally I decide to drive over to the 'Law Enforcement Pennsylvania' office and see Wilson personally. They make me wait almost an hour and search me for weapons twice before they let me through, into a windowless room which inevitably reminds me of my cell in Russia. I feel the instant need to get out of here. I feel trapped.

As Wilson opens the door, it gets a little better. He sits down on the other chair across the plain metal table, greeting me officially, _Captain Bauer_

 _I don't have any rank any more,_ I tell him. He obviously read my file.

 _You're listed as an Army reserve officer._

 _I've just turned 54. I haven't been listed in years._ That guy doesn't even have a file with him. But he has deep rings under his eyes. Must have really looked into my life and this case, probably the whole night long.

 _You were removed from from the list because of your crimes and got a presidential pardon. That automatically brought you back onto his list. Age limit is 55._

 _Not important. What did you find out?_

 _I'm not allowed to tell you anything._

 _Why?_ I'm getting angry. I want to know what's going on.

 _You're not a privy, you're just a witness,_ he says, and sighs.

Something is not right, I can feel it.

We look into each other's eyes, then he leans over the table, I do, too.

 _Langley took over. They pulled the case away, this station is no longer involved. You should leave._

I should leave. This was no threat - it sounded more like an honest advice, given by somebody who means it well.  
We're both leaning towards each other, speaking under our breath.  
 _Is there anything you can tell me?_

He shakes his head. _No. Try to stay out of it._ Again, this is no threat. I see it in his eyes.

Wilson stands up and opens the door for me, officially signaling me to get the hell out.  
That's exactly what I do.

I head back to the car that I rented down in Florida and start driving. In the beginning I didn't even know where to go, at least not until the first road sign, which says Interstate 76 New York / Washington DC.

As soon as I'm on the highway, I call Chloe, telling her about Langley and the things Wilson told me. An hour later she calls me back, to confirm it. A guy named Charles Rodgerson ordered him to stop working at the case and hand it over to Langley. That means they take it seriously.

Langley is on my way.  
In the moment in which I see the street sign, I pull off the interstate. What am I doing here? Should I really go there, to the front door, asking for Charles Rodgerson? No. Bad idea. I told Wilson everything I knew and there's nothing that I could tell Rodgerson. I have to give him some time to draw his own conclusions and just let him do his work.

It's four p.m. now.  
I park the car and for a while, I sit here and wonder what I should do now. I can even see the Langley building from this place. But I can't go there now. There's nothing that I could change.

Finally, I decide to head back to Washington. I'll find a place there and lay low for a few days, letting Chloe watch them from the distance.  
She soon tells me that also the people from Langley tapped into her access count: they have also accessed the documents about Audrey on the British servers.

I buy a rose again and repeat what I already did yesterday. This time, it's already dark when I arrive at Arlington. I'm the only one there, as I walk over to her grave. The rose that I brought yesterday has lost its beauty. The flower head has faded and lost a few of its petals. I kneel down and replace it with a new one.  
I wonder, what Heller will think when he stops by tomorrow morning. Most likely nothing, in his condition. If the Secret Service is paying attention, probably they'll notice that ever since I'm back in town, there's a rose on her grave. But I guess they're not paying attention to those things.

I leave the cemetery before the guards throw me out when it closes its doors for the night. Its already dark when I walk back to my car and hit the road again. I'll find a motel room somewhere down in Alexandria.  
I'm driving around quite aimlessly. When I stop at a gas station I already break my own resolution and guzzle myself with fast food again. That's not exactly the thing I'd need to get back in shape and give my body back what it lost over the course of past months. But it's damn delicious and greasy burgers and french fries have an almost magnetic pull when you only lived off awful rice and dry bread for half a year.

As I stood there, by the car, eating, I should have looked around - at least back. Then I would have probably seen the car that was following me - most likely ever since Arlington.  
I spot it too late. I thought myself safe-

but exactly where the road down to Alexandria passes through a forest, the other car hits me from behind, sending me over the edge of the road, down a little slope, into the ditch.

.

.


	22. захватить

захватить

.

.

The airbag was one of the two things that saved my life. Would I have been knocked out by the crash, I would already be in their hands.  
The second thing was the ditch. They needed a while to turn around, stop their car and climb down here. When they reached my car, I was already a hundred yards into the wood.

I'm clearly running for my life, even though I don't know who I'm running from. Russians, who found out that I'm no longer their prisoner? The Mexicans, because they 'lost' me, in return for such a lot of money?  
I don't get the awful thought out of my head that these two guys are neither Russians nor Mexicans - they are US agents, pursuing me I don't know what for.

I'm running for my life, but I get tired soon. I'm not used to it any more. I'm only slowly recovering from the past six months, even slower than I had thought. There are no powers that could keep me running.

I go on. I have to run, because I don't have any weapons that I could face them with. It wouldn't be a wise idea to shoot at federal agents anyway. That could bring me straight back into prison. Is it that what they want? Is it a provocation that'll give them a reason to lock me up again?

I have no time to think about this now. I need to go on, even though it already hurts. The air stings in my lungs. My legs feel like they're burning.

The forest isn't that big. Thereafter there are a few industrial buildings. They are perfect to hide. I pick one and climb onto its roof, choosing that one because it leaves me a few options to get down from the roof again, in case these guys have the same idea.

I lie down flat at the rooftop, right next to my head there's a lamp mounted to the small parapet. It lights up the open parking lot below the building and it's also a hot spot. They won't see me if they have infrared binoculars. They'll only see the lamp.

Even though it hurts I have to calm down my breathing. I can't afford to make one single sound.

They're approaching.

I dare to look down and spot two black clothed men. They have their firearms drawn and walk across the parking lot. There are ten industrial buildings around this parking lot. They can't search them all.  
Ten minutes later, they seem to give up. They damn look like US agents.

I keep lying where I am. Maybe they're just waiting for me to make a mistake. They're waiting down there, because they believe that I'll come out of hiding.

Bite me. I know your tricks. You're playing it by the book: Standards and Tactics by Larry McKenzie, 4th edition. I once knew that one by heart and I still remember a lot.

They stay. I stay.

After an hour, they begin to doubt themselves and make the next move, as in the handbook: they pull back into the forest.

But I know that they're still keeping an eye on this whole complex.

I have time to stay. The night is young, it's not even midnight yet.

I keep lying there for three hours.  
I lost all my stuff. Everything that was in the bag in my car. I only have a few credit cards in my pocket, and a wallet with a few hundred dollars. My passports are gone. My clothes. The phone. Going back to the car is not an option. That's what they probably expect me to do. It would be a trap. The police has already arrived at the scene of the accident, I'm sure. Another trap.

The things I'm wearing now seem still okay, despite the accident. It won't attract too much attention when I walk through the town.

I don't even know where I am or where to go. They know that I don't have a car. If they have enough reinforcements, they'll be posted on the closest motels and public transfer stations. I have to avoide those.

But if I avoid these, there's not much left where I can go.

I finally climb off the rooftop at a dark corner and stick to the backyards, as I walk away. I need to get as many miles between me and the scene of this accident, before dawn comes.  
The area with these industrial buildings soon comes to an end. There's another interstate route and behind it, already the noble part of the city begins. I can't walk into there. I'd be the only dark spot in this place, the only one out on the streets, and there's no cover.

But around me, there are only good parts of the city. To the north, there's a fort. I can't go there. It's surrounded by a mighty fence and constantly guarded. Would be a bad idea. I can't go back into the industrial area and I also can't go back into that tiny piece of forest where the remains of my car lie in the ditch.

I have to make a decision.  
But all too late I realize, that I've run into another dead end: they know that I have nowhere to go. This time, I played it by the book, giving myself up: running exactly to the end of that industrial area, where I'm now trapped.  
I should go into one of the buildings, to take cover, but I'm afraid about accidentally setting off an alarm. That would serve me on a plate.

I have to find a car somewhere that I can steal, to get away from here before they come here.  
There's a van, parked on the other side of the street. Taking this one would mean to give up my cover to get there. I'd be visible from the whole street.

As I start running, a car suddenly turns around the corner. I haven't seen or heard it coming.

For the split of a seconds I'm blinded by the headlights.

But then there's only darkness again.

* * *

I'm not sure how much time has passed.

When I come to myself again I'm inside a small room, instead of the street. This is awful. My head feels like it got caught between two crashing trains. I feel dizzy, but I'm not sure if this is only caused by that crash. Have they given me something? I haven't seen _them_ yet, but there has to be somebody. I didn't get here by myself.

I'm all out of breath though I haven't done anything. What the hell is going on here?

That room is empty. It's a basic holding room. Four concrete walls, concrete ceiling, an unbreakable lamp, a toilet and the chair that I'm sitting at. No, I'm not sitting here- I'm half way hanging over the armrest of that chair.  
As I try to sit up straight, my head starts spinning again. This is not normal. The picture in front of my eyes is blurred. Panic is slowly starting to take over, as I'm still searching for the reason for all this.

I hear somebody call my name. Someone's here. Wearily I turn around, there's really a man, having crouched down next to me.

 _Are you okay?_ , he asks me. He looks really worried.

 _Who are you?,_ I ask back. He doesn't answer my question.

 _Are you okay?,_ he asks me again, worried, _Shall I get you a glass of water?_

I decline. _Where am I?,_ I manage to breathe, while I'm trying to fight that awful dizziness. He acts like he's my friend. But he isn't. My hands are tied to the armrests of that chair. I manage to lift my left arm until the chain stops the move. _Why..?_

 _You were thrashing around wildly when you were unconscious,_ he explains, even shows me the keys in his hands, to the handcuffs.

 _Where am I?_

 _You have a bad brain concussion. Move as little a possible._

That answer is not good enough for me. _Damn it, w_ _here am I?_ He was already on the way to unlocking the cuffs around my arms, but he stops as he hears the harsh tone in my voice.

 _You're safe here._

I am not safe here. _What kind of nonsense are you telling me? You're putting me into a holding cell, you're tying me up and now you really expect me to believe that shit?_ I would have wanted to shout at him, but I don't have the power to do it. Instead of a shout, my words are only a gasp.

 _You had an accident,_ he says.

Yes, I know that. I try to think back... What the hell happened? Why did I get unconscious again, waking up here?

 _You had a car accident,_ he repeats, _your car went over the edge of the road and fell into a twelve feet ditch._

The memories are slowly coming back. _A_ _car rammed me,_ I gasp. Now I remember. I got hit by someone. They were following me, hunting me down, hours after I ended up in the ditch.

The man sighs and gets up. Now he's talking to someone. There must be somebody else, standing behind me. I try to turn around, but my neck hurts. The pain in my head almost makes me get sick. That must be the concussion.

 _Give him some more,_ I hear him say, and the panic comes back. I want to scream and shout out loud. Hell no, stop it. Get a grip of yourself again, Jack! Shouting is not gonna help you!  
My pulse is close to 200 I guess, only due to hearing that sentence. I'm trapped.

The man bows down to me again, to inject something into my arm. This can't be anything good. He's wearing a white coat, but that man is no doctor, for sure. I'm not in a hospital. I'm not safe here. It's them who were following me, who made me crash.  
 _Why are you doing this to me,_ I ask him. They're obviously Americans.

He doesn't answer.  
Instead, he pulls out a syringe and tries to inject something into my arm. All the struggle is in vain. Soon the second guy also grabs me and holds me down.

I shout at them, to tell me who they're working for and why I am here, until whatever they inject into my arm kicks in. The world that was horrible gradually turns into pure well-being.

.

.


	23. государственная измена

государственная измена

.

.

Whoever they are, they're not trying to kill me -at least not now- and neither are they trying to get information out of me. They are trying to make me weak-minded and they are playing awful mind games, telling me that I was safe here and acting like they were my friends: but they are not.

I've been sitting here, for hours, constantly under the influence of some drugs, which have an effect that's somewhere between alcohol and sleeping pills. My head is dizzy, I'm close to getting sick whenever I move and I'm tired.  
But there's something in them that keeps me from falling asleep. Or is it my anxiety over being here?

Don't know.

They are Americans. They have captured me for a reason. If they had wanted to kill me, they would have done it, I'm sure. But unfortunately, not one hundred percent.

This must have something to do with Audrey. I'm sure that they followed me, ever since I was in Arlington again, at her grave. They must have waited for me there, expecting me to show up eventually.  
Was it a mistake to go there?

No. I won't hide. Not here, in the US. I wouldn't even know who I'm hiding from. They have too many means to get to me.

The door opens, a guy comes in. The same one again who already talked to me.

He comes over and opens up the cuffs around my hands that tied me to the armrests of the chair.

Shall I go for him? Strangle him?

I'm not even able to lift my hands! Damn it, what is it that they've given me? Whatever is was, it leaves me totally numb. That guy doesn't even care to have a weapon. It was no big deal for him to uncuff me- don't make it look like you're my friend just because you took the handcuffs off me that you don't need anyway!

He calls me by my name. He knows who I am. Even calls me by my first name. Should I talk to him? I won't have much of a choice if I want to get some answers for the thousand questions in my head.

 _What do you want from me?_

He just sighs and looks at me. _You're causing a lot of trouble,_ he begins, _you're running around, triggering investigations that could become a serious threat._

 _A threat to who?,_ I manage to say. I'm not a threat to anyone. I barely got out of Russia and all the agencies know that I'd be happy to just live a life in peace at home and never touch any weapon again. Heller gave me a chance by pardoning me. I would never ruin that. I would never be a threat to anyone any more. _Who are you working for?_

He seems to ask himself now if he should tell me or not.

 _Who are you?,_ I ask him again, _I doesn't matter if you tell me, I guess I'm already as good as dead._

He smirks. _I'm surprised to hear such a sober assessment of your situation,_ he almost laughs, _but that makes things easier, I guess._

 _This is about Audrey Raines,_ I say. I refuse to call her by her other last name.

 _Yes, indeed,_ he sighs. He starts circling the chair on which I sit. I can barely move my head to follow him with my eyes. I hate it when he stands behind me and I can't see what's going on.

 _You've contacted a former CIA operative, Agent Morgan, then the regional office that surveilled her was called to attention, Agent Wilson and his team... the circle was widening, Jack. The circle of people who were concerned about either your mental state of health or that your testimony that the former First Daughter is still alive and in enemy hands might be true._

Does he doubt me? Does he think I'm crazy, that I'm just making this all up? Hell, no! Haven't I showed them the inconsistencies that Chloe found out? Haven't I already told them what happened in the past months?  
 _She's alive,_ I gasp. I have to make this clear to him. _She is alive,_ I repeat, louder, this time.

He walks back over, until he's facing me again. Slowly he crouches down in front of me, lying his hands on the armrests on my chair.  
I would like to grab him by his shoulders, rattle him and tell him once more that he has to believe me. But I can't. The stuff they gave me makes me weak. I can't move an inch.  
 _She's alive,_ I tell him again, but I only manage to speak under my breath.

I look into his eyes. Doesn't he believe me? Or does he?

I freeze. He does believe me. He already knows that Audrey is alive! He knows it!  
That look in his eyes sends shivers down my back.

 _You have to get her out!,_ I hiss, but I already know that he's not here to get her out. They have already known she was alive, even before I told them! They are keeping this information from getting public. They didn't do anything to save her. When I appeared, I knew facts that they had kept from getting public. _You have to get her out,_ I tell him again, _this is your duty, whatever agency you're working for!_

 _My duty is to keep my country safe._ He stands up again. _That's what I'm here for._

 _Then get her out. She was held in a prison in a military compound, somewhere at river Ili. I already said that to Agent Wilson. I don't know where she ended up after we tried to make a getaway._ I'm sure he already knows all the things that I said to Wilson. But I have to remind him of his duty again. _Get her out!_

He's shaking his head now. _Of all the people out there on this planet, Jack, I guess you are the one to know at first hand that you don't just invade Chinese territory and snatch someone._

So he knows about my raid, twelve years ago. _You can't compare that. That was an informant. She's the First Daughter!_

 _Yes, and that's the point. Decisions were made. Condolences were said. Official statements were made. The United States of America don't just lose the president's daughter and bury her while another nation is questioning her._

 _What!?_ I want to scream and shout now, more than ever. _You can't be serious! You swore to protect this country!_ Those are political games! They're not getting her out because of political implications? It's hard to scream. It was hard to talk, but it's even harder to scrape up my last powers to yell at him. _Whatever agency you work for - we swore to protect this country and its people!,_ I yell at him.

 _EXACTLY!,_ shouts back, angrily. He grabs my throat and squeezes it to keep me from shouting back at him. _We swore exactly that! First the country, then its people! Are you aware what this all could trigger once it gets public?_

He's squeezing my throat so hard that I'm sure if he only wants to stop me from shouting back or wants to strangle me. It's hard to breathe.

His face is real close to mine now. He hears me fight for air.  
 _This could become a full scale bilateral crisis. Diplomatic crisis. Economic sanctions. Trade war. Military sanctions._

When he lets go of my throat again, I'm out of words to shout back. _That's all just money,_ I say, but I'm not so sure if I said it to him or just to myself, telling myself that whoever is behind him is consciously denying Audrey being alive for the sake of diplomatic and economic reasons.

 _Our relations to China have never been as good as they are now,_ he remarks, walking through the room, _the life of one person is not a reason to undermine that._

He is sickening me. I'd like to spit in front of his feet, but I'm too weak to do that. _This is treason,_ I just tiredly murmur.

 _No, it's not, Jack. What you are doing is treason,_ he speaks, _you are damaging the prosperity of your country and its people with your actions._

 _No, I'm not._ We both know that, even if he refuses to see things like I do. I'm not damaging anyone with what I'm doing. I'm trying to save Audrey's life, that's all. That can't be wrong!  
Sitting here, I'm not so sure if I'll ever be able to save her. I'm in the hands of whoever is behind this guy, utterly and completely at their mercy.  
 _She did nothing wrong and ended up in captivity,_ I just murmur, more to myself than to him, _you have to save her._

He comes back over, looking down on me. _And y_ _ou did many things wrong, Jack, you were sentenced to life for murder - and you got out of prison. Now is that fair?_

It's not. I know it. But that's not my primary concern now. I know that I killed, I know that the Russians had a very good reason to sentence me to life. It was even a mild sentence, compared to the things I did. But...  
 _That has nothing to do with Audrey,_ I tell him.

 _Right..._ he sighs, and turns around to leave.

 _You have to get her out!,_ I shout, with the last of my powers.

He turns around at the door, smiling _No. The problem solved itself, Jack. She didn't survive your little getaway._

 _I don't believe you._ I refuse to believe this. She can't be dead.

 _They detected her a few miles downstream of the prison, well before the border to Kazakhstan. They shot her on sight._  
Saying nothing else, he walks out and slams the door behind him.

I already was weak before, but now I feel the life draining from me. This can't be true. He's just saying this to make me give up and comply. To stop my everlasting efforts to make somebody believe she's alive. He's saying it to make me go crazy.  
If I believe him, I'm letting her down. I'm not allowed to believe him. He's lying. He could be making this all up, out of the details of my and Audrey's getaway, which I told Agent Wilson.

I can't believe him. She's not dead.

But the doubt remains.

.

.


	24. лишение свободы

_Dear readers: I added a few important lines to the end of the last chapter ... please re-read, if you read the last chapter a while ago. Thanks ( & please review?)_

* * *

лишение свободы

.

.

They're keeping me locked up.  
I still don't know what agency is responsible for this, either it's the CIA or the Secret Service. Or even the White House, under the new rule of president... who? I must admit, I don't even know his or her name. This is probably the first time in my life that I don't even know who the current president of the US is.

Doesn't matter anyway.

Audrey is alive, I tell myself. That's all that matters to me.

They're keeping me locked up here to break me and to keep me from spreading the facts: that she is not dead. The person lying in the grave which Heller visits every day is not her. I put down red roses on a grave which is not hers, but I knew it. This country openly buried a person with all honors who isn't even dead. Of course this is a political disaster, if this ever comes out. But I don't care about that.

Is that treason? That I don't care about the political implications for our country, while I'm blindly doing everything just to save one person, denying all the other consequences that is has?  
No.  
Yes.  
Maybe. Maybe that guy was even right when he told me I was about to commit treason.

Fuck him and fuck the law. Then I'll be a traitor.

Being here almost feels like being in China. The drugs that they're using to keep me down and to make me comply are similar. I wonder if they are the same which they used on Audrey, years ago.  
All I do is to lie here and wait. I can't move. Or I don't want to move. Doesn't make a difference. The drugs are messing up my head, interfering with my judgement. Taking my sanity.

I guess this is some kind of a special detention facility for the dangerously disturbed prisoners. They brought me here three days ago and during all that time, nobody talked to me. Whenever I had the power, I tried to talk to the persons who come into my room from time to time, but they don't answer. Instead, they're giving me more of that cocktail of drugs, which always pushes me back down for a few more hours.

I have to help Audrey. I have to get her out. It can't be true what the man said: if she was dead, none of this would be necessary. Then the problem would have really already been solved.  
She's not dead. I refuse to believe it, no matter how many mind games they're playing.

I sometimes wonder what they told Agent Morgan and Agent Wilson, about my sudden appearance and the things that I told them.  
Maybe I got them into trouble as well.  
I don't care.

I've been lying here for days, searching for a way out - unlike in Russia. Back in Russia, I accepted my fate and gave myself up, because I had nothing left to live for.  
Now it is different. I have something have to live for, something that gives me a cause to look for a way out.

Audrey.

I'm coming to you, I promise.

After our getaway, when the Chinese caught me again, I lay in my cell, saying this aloud all the time, like a prayer: Audrey, I'm coming to you. Now I don't. I'm sure they're watching me and at least capable of listening. I want to give them a different impression, one that will probably be my way out of here: the impression that I believed this Agent, when he told me she died.

If I can make them believe that I no longer think she's alive I won't be a danger any more in their eyes.

I'm lying here in this cell, acting like I was crying for her. The drugs that they give me help doing this.

I know all about drugs- I've had that monkey on my back for long enough to know it all.  
My body quickly started to adjust to the things they're giving me. They are losing their effectiveness, if they don't increase the dose. But I keep acting like I was still under their influence, even long after their effects have already worn off. It will take weeks until my body adjusts to the drugs in a way that I'll have my full abilities back, but that day will come.

Acting like I was crying is easier when I think of Audrey and of how much time I've already lost here. She needs help. She's been held there for over seven months now. It's been more than five weeks ever since I saw her for the last time.  
I refuse to believe that she died the way this Agent told me. But there's a voice in the back of my head, telling me that even if she had survived our getaway, she could have died of any other cause by now. Torture. Terminal illnesses. Being shot by the Chinese because the political risks of ever losing her got too big.

There's so much anger inside me that I can't let out. I remember my first days in the Russian prison. Back then I still believed that Audrey had just died. I went berserk, screaming and shouting all the time, going after every living living creature within my reach.

When the Chinese shipped me back to Russia, after my unsuccessful getaway I did exactly the same: I freaked out after they told me that Audrey was dead.

Am playing this wrong? Am I making a giant mistake by lying here peacefully, acting like I was silently mourning her death? Would they have expected me to freak out, when I really believe that she got hurt, knowing that that reaction would more likely be 'in character' for me? I have a history of freaking out after the death of my loved ones. Jack Bauer would not lie here in his cell, crying for the woman he loved, or would he? I'm starting to doubt myself. I don't know what I would do if I really knew she were dead. Probably I would really sit here and just cry and do nothing else.  
If she were dead, I'd only live to see her in heaven one day.  
My life is hell, ever since the day I lost her.

I take a deep breath and roll over to lie on my back, wiping away the tears. I'm a good actor. Or were they real, in the end? Don't know. Doesn't matter.

At leas there's no pain for now. There is even a bed, a blanket. Things I've dearly missed.

Whenever I pull the blanket around my body there's only one thought: Audrey doesn't have that luxury right now. While I lie here, in a room with a bed and a blanket, she's out there somewhere, all alone. Its a real luxury that nobody is coming to torture me - at least physically. That's pure luxury.  
As long as she's out there, I don't deserve to live like this.

 _I'm coming to you, I promise,_ I silently whisper. Damn it! What if they're listening? I was so disciplined all the time, not to say this aloud. Doesn't matter. I guess they don't believe me anyway, no matter how good my acting is. I feel like I will never be able to fool them into thinking that I believe Audrey is dead. Jack Bauer would never believe her to be dead, not until he sees her dead body.  
That's in character.

* * *

Two more days, which I spend alone, until finally somebody comes into my cell. I don't know where I am, that disturbs me. They turn the lights on because it's evening, I guess. First comes a guy who I think is a doctor, to check on me.  
I can't harm him no - although I could. The drugs have lost their effectiveness over the course of the past days. They all think I'm weak and tired, but I am not. I could reach out and twist his neck...? No, I won't. That's of no use. There will be a better chance to use my powers.

That guy is no doctor, he just looks like one.  
He and another guy drag me out of bed, over to a chair that they brought in. They cuffs my legs and my arms to it and then they leave.

I guess the agent who locked me up here is coming back.

For some minutes, I sit here, alone, trying to prepare myself for the coming meeting. Shall I tell him that I believe him now, that Audrey is dead? He won't ever believe me, I guess.  
There not many things other than that which I could tell him. I wonder why he's coming back at all...

The door opens and someone comes in- but it's not him. It is Agent Wilson!

I straighten up and stare at him. Slowly he comes in, the other two guy close the door behind him.

There's no gun at his belt. That was probably taken from him when he entered the building. My eyes move down to his ankles - is he wearing a second gun? Maybe? Maybe not.

He just sees me staring at the ground in front of him.

 _Captain Bauer?,_ he asks.

I slowly look up into his eyes. _Where am I?_ Does he look shocked to see me here? Kind of.

 _Alexandria state prison,_ he answers, adding, _state hospital for the criminally insane._

I had always feared that this was one of those places. That's why the personnel didn't even listen to me when I tried talking to them.  
 _What got me here?,_ I ask him. He is the first one to talk to me at all, treating me like a sane person.

 _I don't know,_ he murmurs, coming closer. _You are here for murder._

My heart sinks. _Murdering who?_

 _Those Russians. Your presidential pardon got contested._

He is talking with such a low voice that I can hardly hear him. I slowly begin to realize that the ones who brought me here don't even know that he is here to see me. _Who brought me here?,_ I ask.

 _The White House. Agents of the Secret Service. They're saying your case is a highly political one._

 _How could they contest my pardon?_

 _They averred this pardon was nothing more but a personal favor of Heller and he made it only due to his Alzheimer's disease. Courts haven't decided yet._

He's looking into my eyes. I see that he is worried. He's not one of _them_ , I feel it. _Why have you come to talk to me?,_ I finally ask him.

He takes his time answering, always looking for the right words to say. _Do you still believe that Audrey Boudreau did not die half a year ago in London?_

 _I am sure._

 _Do you have any proof for this?_

 _No,_ I shake my head, _I already told you everything Agen-_ He suddenly grabs me throat and stops me from saying his name aloud. When he lets go of me again, I understand, continuing, _If I had any other proof that the things I saw and the inconsistencies in the documents that I showed you, I wouldn't be here._

We have a silent understanding. First of all, he seems to believe me, that Audrey is alive. Secondly, he obviously does not belong to the Secret Service or the White House. I'm not sure if I can fully trust him, but my situation is so bad already that it's worth the try.

 _Those inconsistencies have disappeared,_ Wilson says. I'm not sure if I can follow his thoughts.

 _How?_

He shrugs. _The documents on those servers are different ones now,_ he whispers. _Ever since Tuesday. Four days ago._

I freeze. They are not only trying to make me silent. They also took the few pieces of evidence that I had and already started to clean up everything.  
 _You have to help me find her,_ I plead, hoping to get through to him, _they said it's all political, that her being alive will lead to major diplomatic and economic sanctions,_ I take a deep breath to emphasize this last point, _I'm not in it for politics. I don't care if this gets public or not. I can even live with it if they decide to deny it all afterwards. But I won't let her rot in prison there._

Wilson nods his head and looks at his wristwatch. He never says yes or no, or that he'd pull through with my plans, but he signals me that he's at least okay with them.

 _You'll be transferred tomorrow evening. When the convoy stops at a crossroads and all four traffic lights are red, get the hell down, Captain._

Then he leaves. I could jump for joy - if I could. I'm still tied to that chair.  
The two guys come back in and untie me. I have to hide the new courage to face life that I just got, as well as I have to hide from them that the drugs that they gave me are influencing me less than they think.

Tomorrow evening. One more day in here. I can handle that.

 _I'm coming to you Audrey,_ i tell myself again, lying on the bed, eyes closed. _I'm on my way._

 _._

 _._


	25. Игры разума

Игры разума

.

.

The agencies always hated each other. I can still remember how we as CTU always fought the District, how they had their problems with the NSA and the FBI. The Secret Service, the White House and all the others also played that game - everyone against anyone.

As Wilson's case was pulled to Langley it got buried there by some politicians, but he didn't let lose. I should have taken his warning seriously, when I sat at his desk in Pittsburgh, a week ago. Probably I shouldn't have gone back to Washington. I should have stayed there, and I would have stayed away from a lot of trouble.

The CIA doesn't have any authority to act within the States.  
But I guess they don't care too much about that official limitation.

Someone one behalf of Wilson sent a fake transfer order. When the people from the state prison brought me away they soon got ambushed by his tac team. They used tear gas, stun grenades and electroshock guns.

I'm still trying to get my senses back. The guys from the state prison must have given me some kind of a sedative before the travel started. The tear gas of Wilsons team also served its purpose. I'm alone here now with him, lying on the back seats, trying to get a grip of myself a gain. It hurts to breathe. My eyes hurt, my lungs hurt, too. We changed cars twice in the meantime, though I could barely walk. I really hope that this is getting better soon. We both won't survive that getaway if I'm not getting back on my feet really soon.

I didn't ask him where he was going. He's a CIA agent, Chloe told me that he even was a good one... wait: did he only get me out of there to serve me back to the Russians to get some favor of them in return?

Hell, I have trust issues. That comes from spending twenty years in the intelligence sector.

After an hour on the road and some rest, I am finally strong enough again to sit up. The sedatives are slowly wearing off and even my eyes have come to rest again after the tear gas.  
Wilson is driving silently through the night. We're on an interstate.

 _Where are we going?,_ I ask him, _I hope not back to Pittsburgh._

He starts to smile and looks at me in the rear view mirror. _No,_ he laughs. _I'm not a amateur, Captain Bauer._

 _Call me Jack,_ I say, wiping out my eyes again- the tear gas still irritates. I don't like formalism, especially in cases like this one. He tells me to call him Rob and that we're going to a safe place in West Virginia. Five hours hours later we arrive there, at a cottage in the middle of nowhere.

He parks the car and has to help me walk inside.

We're the only ones here.

After he sits down across the table where I am, we finally have the time and the calm to talk. _Where's the cavalry, Rob?,_ I ask him, fearing the answer.

 _There is no cavalry,_ he tells me, _at least not yet. You upset the White House, Jack, mildly speaking._

Mildly speaking. I almost laugh. That's a nice understatement. _How?_

 _They've known it for months that Audrey Boudreau is alive and in the hands of the Chinese._

 _Who exactly? The President?_

 _No, I have no evidence that the President knows. The Advisor for National Security - Rayburn - knows, and two other cabinet members._

 _How did they get to know it?_

 _The Advisor for National Security found out, because Audrey gave up some vital information that let Chinese hackers successfully steal information from the White House networks. He made some investigations and found out that only she could be the source._

Damn it. She gave them something they could use. _This is not her fault,_ I say, immediately defending her.

 _I don't blame her, Jack,_ Wilson sighs, _not even the White House people did. They just changed all the access codes and lots of protocols, it seems. The few ones who know see this all as a mighty problem, because they can't intervene and they can't even admit that they know she's alive. It would_ _expose them to ridicule to admit that they made such a mistake, when they at the same time just negotiated a new Pacific Trade deal._

I don't know what to answer. That fits exactly what the other guy told me: diplomatic and economic sanctions. That's all the White House cares about.  
 _How did you find that all out?,_ I finally ask him.

We look into each other's eyes.  
 _I received a pack of evidence two days ago. I traced the IP address to Belgrade,_ he remarks, watching my reaction, as he slides a flash drive over the table, apparently with all the evidence on it. I'm sure it's just one copy of many.

Chloe. She wouldn't be that careless to let them trace her IP address. Or would she, to send me a sign? Would she really decide to work with the CIA to help me get out of all this? I really owe her.

 _How do you plan to get her out?,_ I just ask him, acting like I overheard Belgrade, adding _We have to make this evidence available to a higher member of the White House.  
_ I have no idea yet how to do that. But I'm determined to find a way. Wilson seems shocked by my proposal. He's young. He doesn't know how many times I've already gotten myself access to cabinet members I needed.

 _You're gonna get yourself killed that way, Jack,_ he says, shaking his head, _we have to find some other way._

 _There is none. Rob, if you don't want to help me I'm okay with it._

He's shaking his head. _No. Look at yourself in the mirror. You couldn't even walk from the car to the house, Jack._

I have to admit that he's right.  
 _Give me a few days and I'll recover,_ I say. That might be true to be able to walk upright again. But I'm not so sure if I'd be able to go through with such a plan.

 _You would need a member of the White House, one that you can trust, who's gonna believe you and who'll put the life of Audrey over the possible diplomatic and economic consequences._ Wilson keeps staring into my eyes as he enlists all these things, _you won't find one_ _._

He's not right.  
There is somebody like that. Not an active member of the White House any more, but one who knows everyone in there and who still has some kind of access, even though he fell from grace. I even know where to find him and how to persuade him.  
 _There is one,_ I silently say. I hate this option already.

 _Who?,_ Rob asks.

I'm gonna do it for Audrey. I would do everything for her. Even that.

 _Mark Bourdreau._

 _._

 _._


	26. Марк Будро

Марк Будро

.

.

From the moment in which Wilson told me that I needed somebody from the White House - which was the moment I decided to contact Mark - on I knew that meeting him would be hard. It would be the ultimate test for my sanity, if I can still keep myself under control, and if I'm still strong enough to face this all out.  
I knew it would be painful, for him and for me.

But standing here, in his house, no: in _their_ house is a horrible challenge. I'm surrounded by pictures on the walls, showing Audrey, with him, showing them in their holidays or together with Heller and his campaign team... even a large print of their wedding picture.

I came here and it was no mistake. No matter how hard it is to face this.

As he opened up the front door, he nearly fainted, when he saw me. He wanted to slam the door in my face, but I got my boot in and forced him to open up. He would run away, I'm sure, if he didn't have that ankle monitor that keeps him here, under house arrest.

He is afraid of me. He has every reason to.

Chloe, Belcheck and even Wilson told me that I look horrible ever since my stay in Russia. It left traces. I guess that's the impression that I give Mark as well.  
His whole is body is shaking, as he is yielding backwards, away from me, into the house, while I silently close the front door behind me and start walking over to him, just as fast as he yields back. I try not to give the pictures on the wall too much attention, even though they're screaming loud at me, telling me to snatch a peek on Audrey back in her good days.

He's still yielding back. Soon he'll be in the living room.

 _Where do you wanna go, Mark?,_ I ask him, silently.

 _I can run away,_ he stammers, _the police will come in a few minutes and they'll find me._

 _You won't run,_ I say, but I stop walking for a moment. He stops, too. _If you leave this house you'll be thrown into prison and I guess that's not what you want. I'll just disappear and nobody would ever believe you if you tell them you've been running from me._

 _They would believe me,_ his voice is shaking as he says it.

 _No, they won't. We both know that._ Nobody believes a person under house arrest who runs away. _I can keep coming back every other night._

He knows that he has no way out.

 _Have you come to kill me?_

I shake my head. Finally, I allow myself to look around, see some more of the pictures of Audrey which are all around.

 _Have you come to take revenge on me?,_ he asks, as if he was fearing I'd start to torture him. What a tempting thought.

Again, I shake my head, saying _no, I came to talk to you._

He doesn't believe me. _Talk? About what?_

My simple presence is making him nervous. That I'm taking a picture of Audrey from a nearby bureau into my hand to show him that I have all the time in the world makes him even more nervous.  
She has been 'dead' for half a year now. He still has pictures of her, everywhere around here. I guess he really mourns her. Most of the other things are packed into boxes which are piled up in the hallway.  
 _Are you moving away from here?_

 _Yes._ His eyes are glued to the picture of Audrey that I have in my hands. It's an official picture of her, taken on her first work day at DoD. I've seen that one many times already.  
 _I can't hold the house any longer,_ he adds.

It's a mighty big house, in one of the noblest city parts of Washington D.C.. So here he and Audrey lived. I can't help but look around. It suits her. It's like the one where she lived with Paul, years ago. I'm not so sure if I could have ever given her something like that.  
Now that he's under house arrest Mark doesn't have much of an income any more to finance such luxury.

As I walk past him, into the living room, I can sense his fear. _Are you expecting me to harm you?,_ I ask him.

He's even afraid to answer and say 'yes', what he probably thinks.

 _I won't._

 _Really?_

 _Is it that hard to believe?_ He's still standing by the door to the living room, afraid to come in. I walk back over to him and when I get closer, I notice a slight smell of alcohol around him. Shall I really pity him? For losing his job and his beloved wife? No way.  
 _I would have every right to._ I lean my arm against the door frame, standing right next to him, looking into his eyes. _You would not survive one single night at the places where I've been in the past half year._ Russia. The place he wanted to send me to.

He swallows hard, gasping _I did it for Audrey._

 _You did it for yourself, Mark,_ I hiss at him, _not for her. You just did it to make sure I wouldn't take her away from you._

He answers nothing. There is no answer needed. We both know that I'm right. Finally, I push myself away from the doorframe and walk back into the living room. _Have a seat, Mark,_ I order him, pointing at the couch.

Reluctantly, he comes over and sits down. I sit down at the piano stool, nearby. This is Audrey's grand piano. She loved to play it. I spent quite some evenings listening. Don't think back. Don't. Don't look at it, it'll just make you remember things out of your past that'd make you weak right now.

Silence entered the room. I don't quite know how to begin. What I'm about to tell him is massive. He hates me and nevertheless I'll be asking him to do something big for me.

 _What would you do if she was still alive?_

He sadly shakes his head. _Let's not go down that road, Jack,_ he begins, _I would have never given her up without a fight._

He's not getting my point. He thinks that this is about who Audrey would have chosen, him or me. That answer is even subsidiary to me.  
I have to tell him the whole story. No excuses, no omissions, no sugarcoating. Otherwise he probably won't understand.

 _When the Russians got me, Mark, they brought me first to Moscow and then to another prison somewhere inland, I didn't know where,_ I begin, resting my elbows on my knees, _they sentenced me to life and threw me into a dark, windowless cell. Every now and then the guards came and took me out of there. Trust me, I have a lot of enemies in this world. They sold me to them, either letting them question me or just look away for a few hours and let them do whatever they wanted._  
It is damn hard to remember all that. I have to tell Mark the whole story. I'm gonna do it for Audrey. I have to share the worst memories that I have with a person I hate. But he has to understand me: that I'm credible. That my story is no lie.  
 _They held some kind of an auction and the three highest bidders even were allowed to transfer me into their jurisdiction for a limited period of time. The only restriction they had was not to kill me._

 _Why would the Russians do that?,_ Mark asks.

For a moment I look up, over to him. _It was not the Russian government. Just the people from this prison. Corrupt ones. Just imagine how much we'd sometimes be willing to pay to get a valuable prisoner into our hands,_ I sigh. He looks disturbed. Disgusted. He's frozen stiff, sitting there, hearing me talk about Russia, because he feels like he's the cause of it.  
 _First I was taken to Sengala. A few years ago, when there was this crisis with Sengala, I was also involved in fighting one of their groups. They took revenge that way... believe me, they did everything but kill me. When they brought me back to Russia I was barely alive any more. They waited until I recovered at least a bit and then the Chinese got me into their hands. I got sent to a Chinese prison. They started to torture me but I didn't even know what for, since they weren't asking any questions.  
_ I take a deep breath and look into Mark's eyes. _After a while I found out that Audrey was there. They were just torturing me to make her give up classified information._

 _You are lying!,_ Mark interrupts me. This is all too much for him to hear.

 _I have no reason to lie to you, Mark._

He's sitting there, in a mood that is somewhere between wanting to strangle me for saying things like that and between starting to cry, because beneath the protest, he believes me.

 _The things I've seen there get me into trouble ever since, Mark,_ I continue, _People in our government knew about this for months and they decided to do nothing._ _They were holding her ever since London. She's alive. We tried to make a getaway from that Chinese prison, but we failed and got parted. We were both running when they closed in on us. I tried to lure them away from her and they fell for it but captured me back. I don't know if they caught Audrey again, too or if she managed to get out._

He slips over, to the end of the sofa which is closer to me, worriedly asking _and_ _where is she now?_

 _I don't know,_ I breathe. It's just as loud as a whisper. He does believe me.

 _You lost her!,_ he cries, hysterically, blaming me.

 _I did everything I could!,_ I shout back at him, but he's already got to my sore spot. I've blamed my self for the past five weeks for losing her.

 _It was not enough!,_ he shouts back at me. Blind rage has washed away his fear of me.

I jump up from where I sit, rush the two yards over to him, harshly grab his throat with my left hand and push him back down into the upholstery. _You have no idea of what you're still able to do after getting drugged and electrocuted, when people give you second and third degree burns by pressing red-hot glowing metal sticks onto your skin,_ I'm seething with anger, but I don't even know anger at who: him? The Chinese? Or simply myself for failing to stay with Audrey back there, while I'm still explaining my excuse?  
 _If I would have gone with her, I would have only slowed her down. I sent her away and then I set the Chinese guards on the wrong track by letting them follow me._

I have to let go of him.  
I ease the grab around his neck and go the few steps back over to the piano stool, sitting down again.

The silence is back. I don't wanna go on. But this time it's Mark, who asks me, _How did you get out?_

 _I didn't really get out,_ I sigh. _The Chinese kept questioning me, after Audrey was gone. Three full days they asked me where she went. They wouldn't have asked me that if they had captured her again._ This is so hard to say: _but then the questioning stopped. They put me back on a train to Russia. The guards sold me again a few weeks later, but friends of mine were behind it. They tricked them and that's how I got free._

After all, I wonder: Mark never doubted my story. He's the only one so far.  
I guess it's the story that leaves a chance for the thing that he hopes for most: that Audrey is alive. It's so much easier to adjust to an awkward story if it gives you a possibility for peace in your heart.

He still loves her, I can see that. Although I hate it, it's good in the end. For Audrey. That's why there are pictures of her, everywhere around here, that's why everything is already packed into boxes, ready to go, except for her grand piano, that's why he's sitting here now, listening to me.

 _I need your help, Mark,_ I say. I never though I'd say these words. I'm doing it for you, Audrey! Only for you! I don't like this man, he's a bootlicker who got into highest spheres only because of loving you.

 _How?,_ he asks.

 _Here,_ I tell him, and slide the flash drive over the desk, _have a look at this evidence._

 _._

 _._


	27. рояль

рояль

.

.

It was one of those Friday evenings, on which we both came back late into our offices, directly from the airport, from a meeting somewhere in the country. We stayed at work until late in the evening, because Audrey feared that Paul would come to see her if she went home earlier. Every second Friday he was in town for business meetings. Over the course of the previous months I learned to see the difference in Audrey, whenever he was in town. She stayed at work late, to avoid having to meet him. They had separated for good, but something kept her from just talking to him. One day, much later, she confessed to me that he was still trying to win her back. That every talk would go down that road, sooner or later.

I couldn't let her stay at work, completely alone. I stayed there, too, even though I was mighty tired and had hardly slept the night before - she was the reason, and my hotel room at that conference in Seattle where we spent the previous night.  
Dating her was great, even though I feared that Paul would come to make a miraculous re-appearance and take her away from me. I tried not to get too emotionally attached to her, for exactly this reason, but I already failed miserably.

That night, Paul left late. Probably he had hoped to see her, taking the last possible flight back to London.

When she got it confirmed that the plane that was carrying him away to another continent had left the ground, she finally relaxed a little and dared to go home.  
I came with her, parking my car a few alleys away from her apartment, like always, even though it was raining.

When I reached her door, she pulled me in, wordlessly slinging her arms around me, though I was all wet.  
She told me she was sorry, for being so different when Paul was around. Of course she knew that I had already realized how different she was on those days.  
I said to her that it was okay and that I could understand her, even though it made my heart bleed to say that. I was afraid of losing her. I was afraid of being the third one in their marriage who would only be allowed to stay for a while, until being heartlessly thrown out again.

That night we didn't sleep with each other... we had done that often enough in the two previous nights anyway.  
We went into the living room where she had already opened up a bottle of red wine. We drank quite a few glasses that night. She was afraid of saying that Paul being in the city still disturbed her emotions massively. I was afraid of saying that I feared losing her, one day, back to her husband.  
But we had some kind of a silent understanding.

She sat down at her grand piano and played Chopin, while I lay at the sofa, listening to the music.

It took me some weeks to realize that whenever life and reality got too much for her, she sat down at her piano, playing the same pieces over and over again. Chopin's Nocturnes. Bach preludes. Tchaikovsky. But mostly Chopin. When she sat there, playing, she seemed to forget anything else. After some minutes, however bad the day had been, her face lighted up and she fully dissolved into the music.  
I guess she even forgot that I was still there those nights.

I never experienced anything like that - dissolving into music. The two years in which my parents tortured me with having to learn how to play piano left their traces: I swore to myself never to touch such a thing again and to hate that kind of music.

Audrey changed that.  
Whenever I listened to her play my only job was to refill our wine glasses - most of the times I got a good lead after a few hours.  
She caught my arm on one occasion and made me sit down on the piano stool next to her. I guess I was so drunk already that I forgot about what I had sworn to myself in my younger days. She somehow got me to try the first bars of Chopin's Nocturnes. I failed miserably. We laughed, got drunk. Stayed there half the night without going to bed, even though we were more than just tired. She made me try again. I failed, less miserably.

She meant more to me than just another woman I slept with. More than just an affair.  
When I finally told her that, it was already way too late.

The keyboard lies open in front of me as I stand next to her grand piano. Do I still remember our nights? It's been twelve years since I last sat here, with her. I carefully run my fingers over the white and ebony keys. B flat. C. D flat. A. B flat. G flat. A series of F.

Mark harshly tells me to stop, after only a few seconds.

I do, staring at the black instrument in front of me. He's behind me, sitting at the sofa with his laptop, sifting through the evidence I brought him, which Chloe found while I was held in Alexandria on behalf of the Secret Service.

How does it feel to hear me just strike these few keys, Mark? How does it feel to realize that you're not the only one who listened to her play Chopin? I guess you're feeling just the same way that I do rightnow. Somebody's ripping out my heart. You told me to stop, just because you remember that song. You listened to her play. Just like I did. She played for you, too. She let you listen, though it was the most intimate thing I ever experienced with her. You had that kind of intimacy with her, too, the one that I thought would be reserved solely for me.

I walk around in the room, aimlessly, trying to push these thoughts aside, but the piano is still staring at me, reminding me over and over again of the life that I once had and lost. It's light years away.

 _Are you done reading?,_ I ask him. I have to distract myself from the memories with the present.

 _It'll take days to go through all that stuff,_ Mark answers, flipping the laptop shut. _Those are tons of e-mails. How did you get to them?_

 _Sorry,_ I sadly smile for an answer. I'm not gonna tell him. Chloe hacked the e-mail accounts of four cabinet members, one of them being the advisor for national security and another one the Secretary of State. Actually, that's a sad commentary on them.  
 _Did you read at least the marked ones?_

 _Yes._

He's sitting there. I see how nervous he is after all. I'm not feeling so much better. Being here feels like being the intruder in Audrey's perfect life again, just like 12 years ago.  
That's not my primary concern now. _I need your help, Mark,_ I say.

 _I will not help you,_ he says, emphasizing the 'you'.He just read the messages which the advisor for national security sent to the Secretary of State, four months ago. That he had found out about breaches in the White House network, because somebody had given away passwords. Another breach which involved getting access which was secured by facial recognition - using Audrey's biometrical data, even though she had been dead for eight weeks. They made their own investigations and had some very interesting findings.  
 _I'll only do this for Audrey,_ Mark tells me.

 _Fair enough._

 _What do you want me to do?_

 _I need you to contact the Secretary of State, I need you to make her nervous about this._

 _What for? That'll only get you and me in trouble._

He's a good tactician, as a senior politician. Maybe he'll even be able to help me plan the right moves.  
 _I have someone of the CIA helping me, because they see Audrey - if she is still alive - as a critical breach of national security. We'll do a covert mission on Chinese territory, to get her out._

 _You're insane, that will never work!,_ he shouts.

 _It will! Let me finish!_ Is he just afraid of helping, and therefore badmouthing my plans? _Most likely they're still keeping her in Ili. We have two more weeks until the Russians find out I'm gone when the Mexicans don't hand me back over - which means that the Chinese have no idea that I'm back here or that I've told anyone around here that Audrey is alive and there. They are most likely keeping her there because they have no reason to believe she could be of any harm to them. If she's still alive they wouldn't enlarge their internal circle of people knowing about her by transferring her. When we reach Ili I need you to be pain in the ass for the White House. Make them nervous. Leak something, some suspicions to the press. That'll make the Chinese nervous, too._

 _They'll kill her right away!_

 _Or transfer her._

Mark stands up from the sofa. _You can't know for sure. Maybe you'd kill her with that plan._ He comes over to me.

The worry in his voice is a real one. _There is a slight chance that this all will backfire,_ I admit.

He grabs my shoulders and starts shaking me, crying _How dare you take such chances?_

How dare I? I don't know. _I don't have a better plan,_ I admit. _I'm afraid there is none._

After a few moments of disbelief he lets go of me and starts pacing about. He's slightly shaking his head, again and again, as he tries to come up with a better plan.  
I give him a few minutes for his thoughts, but he can't come up with a better plan.

I walk back over to where I was before, sit down at the piano stool again. If I could only turn back time. 12 years. I'm massaging the palm of my right hand, again. It hurts from time to time, those are still the old scars of my stay in China, ten years ago. I don't know how many times the fractures of my metacarpal bones have broken up again. At least once, in the past six months. The fracture healed, but I guess it stayed displaced. Every now and then it hurts to move the hand.

 _You're not in any shape to do this, Jack,_ he remarks.

I look up. He must have seen me massage the palm of my hand. And other than that, I guess that I look like death warmed up. The last six months left traces in me. I lost a lot of weight. There are a few more faint scars in my face.  
 _I don't have much of a choice,_ I tell him. Let's stay honest: he is right with what he said.

 _What about the CIA?_

 _That I'm working with one of them doesn't mean I trust them. And they could be called back by the White House any time._

 _What about just making this all public?_

I sadly smile and shake my head. _The Chinese would kill her right away to get rid of the evidence. We have to play this game better, you and I._ I look into his eyes. He stopped pacing about. He looks earnest. Determined. Just like me. I hate him but I need him.  
And he hates me but he has understood by now that Audrey's life is in our hands. If we don't learn to cooperate, she'll die.

We will work together, even though we hate each other.  
For her, cause we both love her.

.

.

* * *

Author's note: _Treat your enemies carefully, cause they will define you. Make them interesting cause in some way, they will mind you. They're not there in the beginning, but when your story ends. Gonna last longer with you than your friends._ (one of my favorite lyrics - U2 / Cedars of Lebanon)


	28. возврате

возврате

.

.

I have mixed feelings as I climb the few steps, to the house in Belgrade where I lived for so many years. The people on the streets greeted me - some recognized me, even though I had been gone for months.  
What did Belcheck tell them? That I was dead? Captured? Or on holidays? That I had moved to a different place?  
I don't know. I've tried to keep my head down and get here unseen, but that didn't work. It's easier to fool the CIA and the Secret Service by cutting all electronic communication and avoiding all security cameras that it is to avoid the bunch of 75 year old Serbian women who're sitting in front of their houses every day and night.

At least I made it out of the US without any more troubles. Mark even gave me some money for the trip, since I had nothing on me but the clothes that I wore. I hated to take money from him. I swore to pay him back, firstly because he seems to need the money just as desperately as I do, secondly because the few rests of self-respect and pride that I still have are urging me to do it.  
I didn't even tell Wilson about my routing. We split up in Alexandria, I took a Greyhound bus to Atlanta and a rental car from there, down to Key West again and I hope that he or the CIA or whoever he works with lost track of me. My plane tickets that Chloe got for me two weeks ago were still valid, I just had to re-schedule the flight. My fake Australian passport was still in a locker in Havana. I slept the whole flight, in the last row of the 747, until it landed in Budapest. It was only a five-hours drive from there down to Belgrade.

I'm ringing at my own doorbell now. Who's gonna open up? Chloe? Belcheck? I don't know. I hope it's one of them. I hope that this apartment is still _my_ apartment. I hope that Chloe somehow managed to pay the rent to Igor. My instincts tell me she did.

It doesn't take long until she opens the door.

She's happy to see me, and so am I. It's been long since I got my last honest embrace from somebody. I can hardly remember how good this feels.

Surprisingly little changed here. Chloe didn't dare touch anything since she always knew I was still alive. There are a few computers in the living room, my few books about 'Serbian for beginners' lie on the kitchen desk. I smells like Belcheck was here not long ago - the smell of his cigarettes is here. She never smoked.

I head straight for the couch and lie down. It almost turns into a small fight because she insists on giving me my bedroom back, but I don't want that. She'll be here much longer than me. I have nine days from now on, and then I'll meet Wilson in Kazakhstan to complete our plans of getting through to Ili - to Audrey. I have nine days to recuperate from the exertions of the past weeks. That's not much time - nowhere even enough, but I'll manage to make the best out of it. If it'll need the help of amphetamines or even stronger stuff to be fit enough to go through with all this, I'm okay with it. I have nothing to lose.

Chloe is not happy with my plans. After I come to life again, twenty hours later, I tell her and Belcheck what Wilson, Mark and I are planning to do. Wilson and I will meet in Astana in nine days, and then we'll continue to the Chinese border. We'll have one full night to recon the military complex which we suspect to be the one where Audrey and I were held.  
In the evening before that night, Mark will call the Secretary of State and threaten her to release the evidence on Audrey. We guess that the Secretary of State has some contacts to China. First of all she will put pressure on Mark - but she also has to clean up the mess and do something about it. Chloe has to send traces of the communication between Mark and the Secretary of State to a group of Chinese hackers, to make the Chinese nervous as well.  
We hope they'll transfer her then. Then we could attack the convoy and get a chance to get her out. If the whole plan doesn't work out we'll have to go in. But I guess our chances on success are quite small in that case. We cannot storm a Chinese military complex. Not in one hundred years.

Belcheck is sitting across the table. As he listens to my plan he starts to shake his head, first slightly but at the end he openly tells me that I'm insane to do this.  
He says I'm just gonna get myself killed.

I am aware of that. My chances on a success are little. I guess they are about 30 percent, Belcheck gives me 5. Fair enough.  
I would even try if my chances were as little as one per cent.

Am I blinded by the idea of saving Audrey? Most likely, I am. I am making irrational decisions, based on the wish to save her. I know that I don't think clearly, but I don't _want_ to think in any other way.  
The whole week long Belcheck and even Chloe keep telling me that my plans are too risky. I should rely on a political solution, they tell me. But there is no possible political solution. If there was, the White House would have already chosen that option.

By the end of the week my only aim is to avoid Chloe and Belcheck - at least avoid talking to them for more than a few minutes, because I know where the conversation will lead. I can't listen to it. I shouldn't treat my only friends like that. They are all I have. But I'm still putting Audrey over them. She needs me. Chloe and Belcheck don't. If I die, their lives will just continue as they did in the past months. They shouldn't worry about me. Chloe already paid me back for going to Russia: she got me back out. We're even. We don't owe each other anything. Neither do I owe Belcheck.

I used the few days that I had to get my arms, which I had, hidden in various places all over Belgrade, ready and to talk to Igor. I have to use his old connections to get in and out of Kazakhstan unseen - armed and unseen. It's not cheap but I can afford it. When he asked me why I needed to go there I told him that this time, it's me who has to get a woman out of the claws of somebody else.  
He doesn't know who I talked about, thank god. He only started to smile and wished me well. He's sure I'll die, I guess.

The week is is over now. I'm just about to get into my 'new' car and drive away for good when Chloe comes down to see me. Will she wish me well now, too, finally? Even though she still doesn't believe in my plans?

I wait by the car and watch her come over. The back is full with stuff I'm gonna need: weapons, two assault rifles, even hand grenades. Ammunition for a small war.

 _Have you come to wish me well?,_ I ask her.

She shakes her head, saying _no. You shouldn't go at all._

I already start to think that this is one of her and Belcheck's usual pleadings not to leave - but then she hands me her tablet, telling me to read.  
I do, and my heart sinks.

 _You can't go through with this,_ she adds, after a while.

After reading this I know she's right. If I go, I'm gonna run straight into death.

* * *

I don't have anything being worth called allies. I should have known.

Wilson is a puppet of the White House. They're playing this really well - making me believe that Wilson and I would have a chance, luring me out into danger, to let the CIA kill me there.  
Nobody would care. I'd be no longer under the protection of my already half-revoked presidential pardon. I'd be killed in action - they could even come up with a great story why I was there - a story which wouldn't invoke Audrey. They're already planning that, according to their communication, which Chloe intercepted.

Mark is also in danger. I have to tell him somehow, but I haven't yet found a way. By telling Wilson that I'd rely on the help of Mark to contact the White House, I brought him into danger.  
I haven't yet found a safe way to contact him, therefore I can only hope that the laws of the United States are strong enough to protect him for a few more days - maybe they are, since he's still inside the country. Outside of the home land, there is now law. No protection. Nothing that could save me from the CIA being released upon me on behalf of the White House.  
I had always thought that contacting the agencies would make them search for Audrey - the opposite thing happened. They're haunting me, my friends and even Mark now, because they're in cahoots with the White House. The Advisor for National Security - Rayburn - has a strong position there. He is the ruler over the agencies. As long as Mark doesn't get through to somebody higher inside the White House, who could stop Rayburn, we're all doomed. We can't leak anything to the press. The Chinese would kill Audrey right away.

It's all a giant lose-lose situation.

But something had to happen. I couldn't just sit there and do nothing just because my initial plans won't work. That I could not rely on the help of Wilson or the CIA meant that I had to come up with a different plan.

I don't have anything being worth called allies - but I have friends. I should have treated them better. Especially Chloe and Belcheck. He always mistrusted the CIA- he was always right with that.

He still doesn't like my plans, but there is a point up to which he's willing to help me.

He came to Kazakhstan with me. I crossed the border to China alone, but Blecheck will wait for me on the other side when I come back - if I ever make it back to the other side. Chloe found a way to talk to Mark. He'll contact Rayburn directly, telling him that I contacted him and threatened him to kill him for his actions in London. Chloe will intercept and leak that conversation to the Chinese. They'll know then that I'm out of the hands of the Russians, and that the Americans already know I've been held in Ili. But no word of Audrey.

They will transfer her, I am sure. If Audrey is still alive, they will transfer her, to a place somewhere else, deeper inland. They can't afford to kill her until they hear that the Americans suspect she's still alive and they can't afford to keep her in Ili when I am no longer in a Russian prison.

There is only one main street from Ili to the inland. They have to take that one.

I'm sitting in my hideaway, watching the part of the street where I prepared the ambush. It's a v-shaped valley, a natural narrowing which is perfect.  
I only have one satellite phone with me, which I haven't used yet. We're all too afraid of the conversation being intercepted. Chloe is going to send me an encrypted message, depending on what Mark reaches in Washington and depending on the satellite images of the camp. Either the word _Dallas,_ meaning that we have a go and the convoy is on its way, the word _Seattle_ for 'there are problems somewhere' or _Houston,_ meaning that Mark reached nothing and the satellite images show no prisoner transport at all.

I don't know what I'm gonna do in case of reading one of the latter two options. I only planned for one option- the first one. What am I gonna do if she texts me that there were problems? Am I gonna drive down the fifteen miles to the camp and run berserk? Not a good idea, but it tempts me. I have to keep myself under control. Even if this all doesn't work out, I can't let the rage blind me and throw my own life away. It hurts to think like that. It hurts to make decisions that keep me safe and sound while I know that Audrey isn't. I just hope that I won't need to make such a decision.

I lie and wait for hours. Everything is set. Grenades, two assault rifles are positioned on the opposite hill side, aiming at the street. I have a remote trigger for them, an ammunition belt of two hundred bullets should be enough to make the Chinese guards believe that they are being ambushed by more than only one man. While they're gonna shoot and try to take out the two gunner positions, I'll be one hundred yards away with a silenced marksman's rifle. They won't even notice me first, while I'll take them out one by one.

I hope that the cars are armored somehow - that my curtain fire won't accidentally hurt Audrey - but I'm not sure about that. There are so many variables that I can't plan for.

I hope that the three grenades are gonna stop the convoy.

I hope the cars are not gonna crash in any way that would accidentally hurt Audrey.

 _Dallas._

Reading that word, I know that I have to put all the worries aside and concentrate. I've had enough bad luck in the past. This time, luck has to be on my side.

.

.


	29. убийства

убийства

.

.

Up to now, luck was on my side. It was about time. The cars of the convoy didn't crash. There were three of them. My first grenades took out the first one and the broken vehicle blocked the road. Two more grenades took out the last one and most of its men. The curtain fire worked out just as planned. They were taking cover behind their cars, trying to fire at the two muzzle flames which they saw on each side of the valley, while I was well behind the convoy and had almost every time in the world to take them out one after another.

But there was no time to lose. I left everything behind just the way it was, the rifles, the triggers, the rest of my ammunition and the unused grenades, as I rushed down to the convoy with just two guns to take out the rest of them and the wounded ones.

They didn't even have the time to call for help. Chloe monitored the activities in the camp on her satellite feed. As she sent me a message, half an hour later, still nobody in the camp was in any kind of alarm mode. Business as usual. Thirty more minutes later, again.

It took the people from the camp more than one full hour to realize what's going on. Luck was on my side this time. Half the way between the point of the assault and the border lie already behind me. I feel that we can make it this time. Another thirty minutes later, Chloe's message tells me that the camp is finally being mobilized. This is not exactly what I had hoped for, but it's still something that I had expected much earlier to come. They have no chance to catch up on us.

We're in the mountains, far away from the main streets, the river or any towns. It's just me, Audrey, the car that I'm driving and the wilderness. They are looking for us, for sure. The street that I'm driving runs almost parallel to the border. If they are now looking for us, they are using satellite images for sure. They could spot the car right away. I have to get rid of it and we have to continue by foot. It's not far. Maybe three miles to the border, another two on the other side of the border until we reach the street on which Belcheck is patrolling, looking for us.

I stop the car and help Audrey to get out, take out only the most important things that we'll need in the next few hours and then I get rid of the car, sending it over a cliff, down into a lake. That lake is the place that I had hoped to reach: they can't find the car or its warm engine on any thermal scan any more.

During the past hour I had almost no time to care for Audrey. She was in a bad shape when I got her out of the prisoner transport van. I'm sure they gave her some drugs to make her compliant. She's almost back in the state in which she was, eight years ago. She didn't respond to anything. I had to drag her out and force her into my car because she didn't recognize me. My face was all painted black for the assault. I tried to wipe the black color off during the drive, but I'm sure I still don't look like I used to.

She cried, all the way long. Loudly, first, and then silently, after she realized that nothing would change. Her hands were cuffed. Given the situation, I didn't even uncuff her. I couldn't have fought her and the Chinese soldiers, would they have followed us.

Now she's sitting at the roadside, next to the few items of baggage that I got out of the car before sending it down into the lake. We have to get away from this place, before they spot us on the satellite image. She's still crying, and frightened. I told her to stay there, and she did. Did she recognize me, after all?

Slowly I crouch down in front of her. Only the moonlight barely lights up her face. She is dirty, wearing those old prison clothes and her hair is frisked and dishevelled - but to me, she's still the most beautiful person on earth. I can see behind all those superficial things. I hope she's somewhere in there, behind the veil of drugs that is blinding her judgement now.

Slowly. Move slowly, I remind myself. I cannot rush things now. I've been in a hurry for the past one and a half hours and I had no time to take care for her. That's why she didn't stop crying. Does she hate me now, because of that? I wished I could apologize to her and make her understand that I had no other choice but to treat her that way.

 _Audrey,_ I silently say her name, wiping over my face again to get rid of that damn black color.

There is a reaction in her. She's frightened to the bone, I can see that. But she looks into my eyes for a second, even though she doesn't say a single word. I have to fight the urge to tell her I love her. Maybe it would frighten her even more, and confuse her.

Carefully I take the short chain between her handcuffs into my hand, showing her the key. I have to open up her handcuffs and don't even know yet if she is going to let me touch her at all.  
One after one I open them up. She immediately pulls back her right hand when I open it up. But she doesn't pull back her left hand. Can't she? Or does she just not want to? I wish she was able to talk to me right now. She isn't.

Hesitatingly I stretch out my hand. As I place my fingers on hers, she doesn't pull her hand away. We're looking into each other's eyes. We are at the end of the world, surrounded by people who want to see us dead. She knows that I'm not one of them. I can see it in her eyes that she knows I mean well for her.

When I ask her if she can stand up and walk she even tries. She's able to stand on her own feet, but in no way is she able to walk. I don't know what they've done to her in the past seven weeks. I don't even wanna know, it would only make me angry beyond belief.

But this all means that I have to carry her. We have to get rid of everything that we don't really need and I have to carry her instead. It's approximately five miles. Three miles to the border, then we're safe. Another two until we reach that street.

I leave the assault rifle and most of the ammunition back, hiding it in the vegetation. A bottle of water and one of my two guns plus three clips of ammo must be enough, plus a night vision monocular. I don't plan on getting into a firefight anyway. This is just to fight off dangerous animals which are around here, I guess.  
The gun is in the holster at my ankle. Thermal blankets are around our shoulders, not to keep us warm but to cover our body heat from the thermal satellite images. In case of Audrey the blanket probably serves for both purposes. It's unpleasantly cold out here and she wears nothing but those prison clothes. Her whole body is trembling of the cold, as I piggyback her. I hope that my back and the thermal blanket will warm her up again.

She weighs almost nothing. She was always slim, but now she weighs less than the backpacks that I had to carry back in my Army days. Her arms are nothing but skin and bone. I hope she'll at least be able to hold on to me. Her whole body is nothing but skin and bones.  
Even though she weighs almost nothing for a grown up person it's hard to carry her through the night. I can hardly see where we're going. There are some trees but no real forest. There are lots of stones and rocks, but there's no way to walk on. From time to time, I have to put her down and climb down or up a few feet. We're getting ahead much slower than I had expected.

We've only made a few hundred yards so far and I'm already tired. I've been up on my feet for a really long while, coming here on the exact same way, starting at five o clock in the afternoon. Back then I had a lot of weapons to carry on my back, but it was easier. They were bound to my backpack. It's much harder to carry a person than a heavy backpack.  
Back then it was still bright - at least twilight. Nobody was looking for me. I didn't have to hide from any satellite image.

Now it's completely dark. I'm afraid of making one false step. I could easy break my leg or tear a ligament. That would be a death sentence.

Audrey is not a real help. Her only task is to keep holding on to me and keep covered underneath that thermal blanket. I told her what we need it for: to have some cover from thermal satellite images. I'm not sure how much of that she understood. She still didn't say one word.

I keep talking to her, about the way, about things that I see, the stones, the rocks that we have to climb from time to time. Maybe she understands what I say, maybe she doesn't. I hope that hearing my voice will keep her calm enough to carry on.  
It has a therapeutic effect on me as well. We're alone out here, in the dark and in the wilderness, but as long as I can talk to her, I don't feel alone. I hate to be out here and I guess she wouldn't feel so much better about being alone in the dark wilderness. I hope my voice will distract her from the ugly reality and keep her mind occupied.

Her face is right next to mine. I feel it how her skin touches mine.  
Her arms are slung around my chest. With one hand she's also holding the other thermal blanket which I have round my body.

We keep walking like this for hours.  
I've lost track of time. The satellite phone went into the lake, along with the car. I couldn't even call for help, in case we don't make it. But that doesn't matter: there is nobody who we could call to help us. It is still dark and somehow that's good and bad at the same time. I don't have anything else but the north star to navigate. I don't care to take out my compass. I would need a hand to hold it and I have no free hand. Audrey needs all her powers to hold on to me. I can't give her the compass. The north star is enough for now. I keep it on our right hand side, walking west.

I am beyond tired. Every step hurts. My arms hurt because of holding her legs. My back hurts because of carrying her weight. My legs feel like they're burning. Each single muscle is telling me to stop but I swear to god I won't listen. Not now. These are probably the most important hours of my life. My life had no sense anymore when I was in that Russian prison. I only lived through the days hoping to pay for my sins.

I am paying for my sins right now. Everything hurts but there is a reason behind it. I'm saving her life with every other step that I make. It's been a while since I last saved someone's life. Too long ago. I guess Chloe was the last one, in London... and Heller.

Don't think too much. Keep talking to her.  
I tell her about meeting Heller. I tell her that I saw him a few weeks ago. That the Secret Service is always around him, protecting him. I tell her that he's no longer in office but that he's doing well.

I don't know how much of all that she understands.  
But after a while, she gets closer. She has always held on to me, the whole way long, but now I feel that she's not only holding on any more. She's pressing her body against mine, as if she wanted to warm herself...  
I slightly turn my head to look at her face, next to mine. Her eyes are closed, her head rests on my shoulder, her cheek touching my neck.

I can't let her sleep, even though she looks tired. I have to wake her up again, have to keep talking to her.

We have only one or two more hours until the morning twilight comes.

I don't know if we have already crossed the border by now. Who knows. Who cares. I'll carry on, as long as it takes. I just have to turn my head a little to look at my reason for everything.

.

.


	30. вместе

вместе

.

.

We reached the road after six and a half hours. When I put Audrey down, I dared to look at my wrist watch for the first time. It was almost seven now, and bright. We're late for meeting Belcheck. I planned to be here around four or five a.m. - at least reach this point in darkness.  
There was a little forest next to the street. The undergrowth was dense enough to hide there, still beneath those aluminum coated blankets that reflect our body heat, to cover from satellite images. I guess hiding from them worked. We met no-one on the way out. The Chinese didn't find us. I'm sure they screened all their satellite images, but we hid most of our heat tracks with these blankets. There are animals out there which leave a bigger thermal footprint than we did. Given that, it's not that easy to find us on a black in black, dark satellite picture.

We made it. That's all that matters. For once, one of my risky plans worked out.

Belcheck patrolled the road in a red van from the Kazakh power company. He told me that he'd drive up and down between two small cities, passing by every one and a half hours. I saw him coming from far, after waiting for another hour. Those few steps, just out of the cover in the undergrowth and towards the street were awful. They hurt even more than the last hour with Audrey on my back.  
He stopped right away, to pick us up.

I already feared that Audrey wouldn't trust him enough to get into the car. But either she was too tired from the past hours to struggle against boarding a car with a stranger, or she saw that he was a friend of mine.

We're both lying in the back of the van now, on the floor, between tools and boxes full of spare parts and cables. I should change clothes, into the uniform of the power company, not to attract attention in case we have to stop. But I'm way too tired to do this. Even Belcheck saw that, I guess. That's why he helped me get into the back of the van, and not to sit in front, next to him.

I'm lying here, on my back, and the chuckholes sway me back and forth, I'm even too tired to fight that.

She's lying right next to me.  
I fight to keep my eyes open and look at her, even though I'm tired. I want to make sure that she's okay.

She looks like she is.

An hour ago, when we reached the street, we took cover in the undergrowth. It was a confined space and we ended up lying there together, her back against my front, my arms around her. I feared that she would - but she didn't fight it. On the contrary. She snuggled up to me, as if she savored my nearness.  
I would have loved to stay there, with her, forever. Just close my eyes and fall asleep.

But we couldn't. I kept talking to her, to keep her and myself awake. We had to wait for our ride. Hiding in the undergrowth, he would have never found us.

Now the pressure is gone. My eyes won't stay open for much longer, they're gonna fail me, now matter how much I'd want to keep them open. If I fall asleep, she'll be 'alone' with Belcheck. I hope that she won't freak out. I hope she saw that he's our friend who means just as well as I do.

I have no idea when, if or how Audrey will turn back into the woman she was before all that. She managed to recover once already, and I'm sure that she can do that again.  
Looking into her eyes I can see that there's something of her true self left, beneath all that. Up to now she didn't say one word at all, but we never needed many words to communicate. I see that she's glad, after all, to be here, even if she doesn't say it or can't say it. She looks relieved.  
She recognizes me, I am sure. There's a little smile on her face, after I smile at her. She knows who I am, I can feel it.

I'm seeing her in the daylight for the first time ever since London. Her body looks awful. Even through the clothes I can see how skinny she is. They didn't treat her well. I've just started to get better myself, but for her it will be a long way to go.  
I look up into her eyes again and try to put the other thoughts aside. I don't want to turn angry. She would feel it, and she wouldn't understand. I have to show her a little smile, to tell her everything is okay now. It's not - we're still only a few miles away from the Chinese border, in the middle of a rough foreign country that could put us behind bars or extradite us any time.

I'll keep those worries to myself for now. She needs the feeling of safety, to recover, even if it's only a mere illusion.

I close my eyes and just lie there for a few moments. Sleep is just about to get me, when I feel her hand on my chest. I almost jerk as she touches me. Don't jerk, damn it! This is good! Don't scare her away!  
I open my eyes again and look into hers. She's smiling slightly. She looks happy, no matter what's going on all around us. The look in her eyes and her hand that lies softly on my chest tell me that it's okay for her if I fall asleep next to her.

I don't know how much time passes. Must have been hours.

When I wake up, the car is already parked, the back doors of the van are open and reveal an inner yard of an old house, there's an open door, waiting for us. Audrey, having moved, woke me up. She pulled her legs towards her, hugging them, having moved to the most inner part of the van.  
Belcheck is standing at the open doors of the van. She's obviously afraid of him.  
I don't know what the Chinese did to her. It must have been something bad, what happened in the past seven weeks. She's changed, compared to what I saw of her, two months ago. She's unable to speak, and she obviously lost trust in anyone, even into people who I told her are our friends.

 _He is our friend, Audrey,_ I tell her, rolling onto my side to get up. She doesn't even listen to me and keeps sitting in a corner, away from the doors.

Belcheck helps me to get up and out of the van. I hoped that this would show her that she can trust him, but it obviously isn't enough.  
I have to help her out of the van. She won't let him touch her or be anywhere near her. That's gonna be a problem, one that we have to solve, the sooner the better. I need Belcheck's help to get through Kazakhstan and eventually out of the country and back to Europe. His Russian is perfect. He can blend in anywhere around here, he can get us access to places I couldn't even get close to. We need him to survive.

Though I am hardly able to stand and walk, I help Audrey into the house. My legs hurt, my back hurts, I'm totally exhausted and probably also dehydrated. I took amphetamines before going on that trip. They probably increased my tolerance limit for pain and exhaustion, but now that they're not longer showing their effects, all the dams are breaking. I already feel getting a hangover from that abuse of drugs and my body.

We rented a house for a few nights, somewhere out in the land. Belcheck rented it, using false names and telling them we were from that electric power company. Our van fits the cover story. I guess we're safe here, at least for a few days.

There are only two bedrooms. I don't wanna share one with Belcheck and I don't wanna leave Audrey alone. The bed is large enough, so I help her into the room and let her lie down on the bed. I lie down there, too, keeping enough space between us not to give her an impression of harassing her. I still don't know if she fully trusts me or if I'm just 'less bad' than other men for her right now. We were close during the past hours - but out of necessity. Maybe the things that I already thought were good meant nothing at all.

Right now I don't even care. I'm so tired that I fall asleep right away.

When I wake up again, I have a massive headache. I should have eaten and drunk something. Amphetamines take away your thirst and hunger - but not the headache that inevitably comes when you walk eight miles carrying someone without drinking enough.

It takes me a while to come to myself again - but when I see that the bed next to me is empty, the headache is forgotten in an instant. She's gone!

With one jolt I'm awake and sitting, when I spot her, lying on the floor, in the corner of the room, curled up in a ball. Asleep.

I remember this. I remember being on the ship to Havana - I didn't feel like sleeping on the bed. I just couldn't - and even now I can't put it into words why.

She's fast asleep. She doesn't even move as I get out of bed, open the door and get something to eat for myself and a bottle of water. What a lousy caretaker am I? I haven't even asked her up to now if she also wants something. She looks like she's used to not getting anything- but she must be close to starving.

I get a piece of bread and some cheese for her and another bottle of water. I sneak through the room, over to her and put the plate down on the ground, in front of her so she'll have something when she wakes up. I don't wanna wake her up right now. She deserves the sleep and needs it, just as much as I do.

My headache is already getting better. Drinking a whole bottle of water helped.

I lie down again, on the bed, but this time at the other side of it, so I can see her. She's lying there, peacefully. If I could only wake her up and tell her... damn it, what would I tell her? That I love her? That she means so much to me? That she's all I still have? All that I'm fighting for, all that gives my life sense?  
I can't tell her anything of that all. It would be way too much for her, given the shape she's in. Treat her carefully, don't rush her. Don't put any pressure on her. Shield her from reality, as well as you can, no matter at what cost.

I can't wake her up. She deserves the sleep. At least she took the blanket and one of the cushions with her, to the floor.  
I love watching her sleep. It's something I could do forever.

.

.


	31. близость

близость

.

.

I'm not sure if I know how to do this - how to treat Audrey, after all that she's been through. I must admit, that I let her down, I failed her, when she had to go through that eight years ago, when she came back from China, in that awful state of mind, and I just left her. This has been sitting on my mind, heavily, ever since.

I failed her back then. I'm not gonna fail her again, I swear to god or whoever is out there: I'm not gonna let her down, not ever again. No matter what it takes, no matter how much time I'll have to spend finding out how to treat a human being that was held in captivity and mistreated for such a long time. I should know that. First handedly. But it's a huge difference to go through hell and fight your own way back out, compared to helping somebody in Audrey's position. Nobody ever helped me. I'm not even sure if I would have accepted anyone's help. Why not? Pride? Being the wounded animal that retreats to its den to lick its wounds?

Maybe that's why I've ended up sitting at the bed, watching her. I've slept enough in the past hours. I don't even know what day it is. Is it the evening of still the same day? Or already next morning? No idea. Doesn't matter. Audrey is still asleep, lying on a blanket on the floor in that corner, curled up in a ball. It is so great to look at her- to know that she's alive, that she's in a state which is not the best possible but yet pretty okay, compared to how bad it could be, and that she's here. It's been almost twelve years in which I haven't had her that close to me for such a long period of time.

A part of me is frightened, I guess. Frightened of losing her again, of fucking this all up. _Everyone you touch ends up dead._ I hear Heller's words in the back of my head when I look at her. Is he gonna be right, in the end? I hope not. I've just saved her, damn it. It's time to prove Heller wrong. I am capable of saving a life, not only be the reason for its end.

She lies there peacefully but yet I hate to see her lie there, on the ground.  
I really have to fight the urge to take her into my arms and carry her back over to the bed. She wouldn't want that. I didn't want that either, when I got out of captivity. It is strange... I have to try and think back why. To sleep on a bed, in the middle of the room, on a soft mattress. What was my reason to continue sleeping on the hard wooden floor, even when I could have slept at the bed?

I didn't deserve any better.

The feeling of being vulnerable, when I tried to hide in a corner of the room, to make sure no-one would see me.

I know how she feels right now. She wouldn't want me to get any closer. I would be invading her privacy and be her enemy. That she let me carry her on my back yesterday doesn't count. That was necessary to save our both lives, even her tormented brain realized that.  
Now she's over there and I guess she's back to the defensive position, building up an emotional and a physical fence around her, letting nobody get close. She has no good memories of other people any more. Nobody who came to her during the past months meant well for her, I guess. The few moments in which I saw her, two months ago, they don't count. Maybe she's not even asleep. Maybe she's just feigning it, so I'd lave her be.

She ate the things that I put there for her, probably at some point while I was still out. I take away the empty dish, take a shower and change my clothes, that is really overdue. After the black shirt with the long sleeves is gone and as the lukewarm water washes over my body I realize for the first time that my lower arms are covered in scratches and grazes from carrying her legs. I have to do something about this.  
Drowned in thoughts I sit down on the bed again, to put bandages around my lower arms. She's still asleep at first, but then, at one point, she's suddenly awake. Did I wake her up? Or did she stop to feign being asleep, because she saw that I'm living _my_ own life right now and didn't do anything to get too close to her?

She sits up, wrapped into her blanket, staring at me.  
For a moment I halt what I'm doing - bandaging my forearms - and look at her. I put on a little smile for her, to show her that everything is okay, but this time she doesn't smile back. I don't know why. I'd like to scream out loud, I'd like to cry or whatever, a thousand thoughts are rushing through my head: why doesn't she just smile back? What's so horrible that is going on inside her mind? Am I an enemy to her? I am not your enemy, Audrey!

The most horrible thing for me is that I don't know what's going on inside her head.

When she sat up I hoped that she'd probably come over and help me with those damn bandages, but she's just sitting there watching me as I clumsily wrap the white fabric around my right lower arm. She won't help me. She won't come any closer. I have to put those illusions aside that her mind lets her care for anything else but her own safety.

When I'm finished I lean over to the side of the bed which is closer to her - I don't lean towards her too much, not to scare her. I have to tell her that everything is okay, but she seems not to care at all. Do the bandages around my arms scare her even more? Does it make her think I'm not strong enough to take care of her?  
I tell her that I'm okay. And that I'm here to take care of her.  
Still no reaction. It leaves her cold, whatever I tell her about being okay. Doesn't she care? Is it all the same to her whether I'm okay or not? Probably. Her mind only lets her thoughts go as far as they concern her own immediate safety.

I haven't even asked her - yet - if she is okay. She looked alright when I dragged her out of the Chinese prisoner transport van. Aside of being totally undernourished and skinny, she looks like she's not hurt.

I'm not gonna ask her if she is hurt.  
That would only get her thinking about things that she can't handle.  
I will find it out anyway, if she were hurt, she can't hide it from me, at least not for long.  
When I came back from China, years ago, I wanted no-one to ask me whether I was okay or not. I acted like a wounded animal, licking my wounds in the dark because I didn't want to show to anyone what I had to go through. That paramedic who gave me a prescription for painkillers was okay - but only because he didn't even give me a closer look. My wounds healed, eventually, but nobody took care. I wouldn't even have let anyone see them. Right now, I can't even put it into words why. That was senseless. There is no reason for hiding from a doctor who just wants to help you- but yet my mind told me to.  
I guess Audrey feels the same.

I take the pack of clothes that I prepared for her from the nightstand next to me and with slow moves I put them down on the floor, within her reach. It's so hard to fight that urge to rush over to her and just take her into my arms. It's awful to hold back. I don't want to hold back, but it's the only move that makes sense right now. She trusts me so far to be in a room together with me and not freak out. I guess that she wouldn't let anyone else even that close.

She's still wearing those Chinese prison clothes. They look and smell awful and they're dirty. I want her to get rid of them and get rid of all the memories which are attached to them.

She's not gonna undress in front of me, that much is clear - and right now, I'm even glad. I can see some things _through_ her raddled clothes, how skinny and bony her body is. But I don't know how I'd feel if I saw her naked in such an awful shape. I guess _I_ would either cry or freak out. Both wouldn't be good for Audrey to see. Right now I'm really glad that she stands up, takes the clothes with her and heads over to the bathroom.

She had troubles standing up. But she wouldn't have accepted the help that I didn't even offer.

I have to get something to eat for the both of us. She has to get stronger again and she has to put on some weight again.  
The fridge is full as I open it. Belcheck probably went to buy something for the three of us while I was asleep. Half the things are labelled in Kazakh which I can't read at all. Some others are labelled in Russian, which is at least somehow similar to the few Serbian words that I know.  
He's gone right now. I don't even know where he went or why but I don't care. He's a professional in what he's doing. Usually, Igor paid him and me to do things - now it's me who pays him. With the money that I saved and with the money Mark gave me.

With a loaf of bread and some cheese I head back into our room. Hesitatingly, I knock at the door first, before entering, not to surprise her, in case she's already out of the bathroom.  
She is.

Her hair is dripping wet as she's standing next to the window, looking out. Smart girl. She didn't open up the net curtains and she didn't just open up the window and run away from me. The basic instinct is still there. It tells her that she's safe here and that we both have to hide.

This time, as she sees me, she even manages to give me a little smile. Wait... or is the smile just because of the loaf of bread that I'm carrying? Don't know. Doesn't matter. If making an end to her starving is going to bring back her trust, then I'll even head for that road.

Slowly I walk over to her side of the room, to the blanket that she put down onto the floor, to sleep on. I'm deeply invading her privacy by being here, I guess, but I take the smile that she gave me as an invitation. All my moves are slow and calm enough to give her some time to adjust or yield away.

I sit down on the blanket and a few moments later, she comes over to me, too, sitting down a few feet away.

I cut a slice of bread off for her. She hesitatingly takes it out of my hand as I offer it to her. I don't know what to say to her. There are a thousand things which I'd like to tell her - that she's out now, where we are, what my plans are,... I guess that would be way too much for her right now. She can't grasp that information.

After a few minutes she slips closer. That slice of bread is already gone.  
She takes some more bread and cheese from the plate that is standing on the floor right between us.

My presence seems to be okay for her right now. We sit in silence for a while, eating. I'm glad that she is hungry and has some appetite. I should have told her to go slow, not to gobble that much food down after eating close to nothing for such a long time- but before I get the chance to say something, her body already tells her that, clearly.

She jumps up and runs to reach the bathroom just in time when it all comes up again.

I should have told her to eat slowly. Maybe I shouldn't have given her that much... I could have brought her just a little piece, instead of letting her get just as much as she wants.

No. That's wrong. There is a difference between taking care of her and treating her like a child. She's a grown up woman. No matter what she went through, I'm not gonna patronize her. I would have hated it, if somebody had done that to me, years ago. That's what they all tried to do. That's exactly why I retreated into my cave and let nobody close.

Being there for her is different. Being there for her means that I'm gonna hold her hair while she vomits and not that I'll keep her from making her own decisions. It's a wonder that she lets me be that close. Maybe she's just not able to push me away because she's at an end of her powers.

A while later there's nothing left inside her that could come up again and we both end up sitting at the tiles on the bathroom floor, close to each other. She's crying. I wouldn't know how to put it in words, but I know what her reason is. She realizes how weak she is. She realizes in what shape she is. The way back seems endlessly long, when you're in that position. I know that. I know it, first handedly. If I could only tell her.

There's not much space between us. Slowly I let go of her hair that I've still been holding and put my hand on her shoulder, wordlessly telling her that she can lean back if she wants to.

I see her hesitate. But as the sobs shake her whole body she finally decides that keeping me at distance makes things worse, not better. The part of her that remembered me and told her that I'm her friend, not her enemy, finally won over the part that tells her to let nobody close.  
At least for now. I wrap my arms around the skinny body that leans its back against my chest.

I tell her that it's alright, that things are gonna get better again. I have a hard time not to cry with her, as tears fill my eyes as well while I hold her. She's crying. I guess it just needs to get out. Maybe she doesn't even have a reason that she could ever put into words. If you only knew, Audrey, how many times I retreated into my den and cried, remembering the life that I had lost. Every time I looked into the mirror and saw my scars. Every time I remembered how I left you and let you down.

I was angry for a time, but when that was over, only the sadness stayed with me. I would have given so much to have _you_ near - nobody else. You would have understood how I felt.  
Just like I understand you now. I could sit here, forever, holding you.

.

.


	32. боится

боится

.

.

It takes an hour or two until her crying stops. We're still sitting at the bathroom floor, my legs have gone dead and I'm cold through and through. But that doesn't matter, as I'm still holding that fragile body in my arms. She seems to have found some kind of peace now. Her sobs stopped, her head rests against my chest and I'm softly stroking over her hair, telling her that everything is alright for now.

It's the _now_ that counts. I guess she wouldn't even be able to handle it if I told her that everything is _gonna be_ alright at one point in the future. Her tormented mind doesn't even allow her to think of any future. She lives in the here and now and doesn't care about the past or the future. She's focused on hiding, running away or bracing herself against whatever comes.  
At one point in the past two hours I guess she realized that _here and now_ everything is okay and that she can hold on to me. _I won't leave,_ I tell her, _I'll always be there for you._

I've been thinking for such a long time what to tell her. I tried to think back a few years, what could people have said to me to make me trust them again? I guess nothing. I can't think of anything to say that would make her suffering easier to handle. Words don't change anything.

We can't stay here forever, that's why I finally get up and carry her with me, back to the bedroom. She's easy to carry - she weighs almost nothing. After sitting there with me for such a long time she even trusts me enough to let me carry her and to let me put her down on that blanket that she put onto the floor in her corner. I push a few other things away and grab my pillow and blankets from the bed to lie down next to her.

I'm not tired, but I lie down next to her anyway, because I don't want to leave her alone.  
Even though she's still not able to say one word, she gives me a little smile as we look into each other's eyes. For now, I'll stay silent, as well. I'm not gonna force her to speak. She will talk to me, one day - whenever she wants.

Half a year ago, when I met her in London, I was totally unprepared. I hadn't planned meeting her. They put me in that room and made me wait - and the least thing that I expected was for her to show up. But then it suddenly happened.  
The door opened and she was there. My heart skipped a few beats and then my pulse skyrocketed.

Everything was still there. Everything. I knew it in the moment in which I saw her face. It had been nine long years in which we hadn't seen each other. But they didn't exist in that moment. It seemed like no second had passed, ever since that morning when she came to me, asking me how much longer I needed to stay at CTU, after I had brought down Logan.

I don't know why we didn't kiss each other- we we already so close. I wanted to, but I didn't, out of respect for her marriage. And she didn't, probably for the same reason. We both felt watched.  
I guess she loves that guy Boudreau, otherwise she wouldn't have married him. He's a douche but he loves her as well. Otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to my plans for a rescue mission for Audrey. He brought himself into severe danger. The White House or anyone else could at any time end his house arrest and put him into jail for treason. I'm sure he wouldn't want that, but he took the risk, as he agreed to play his role in making the right people aware of the fact that he and a bunch of other people know that Audrey is alive.

I'm not sure if he'd die for her.

I would. No questions asked, at any time.  
It's hard to take that there is somebody else out there, feeling the same way for her as I do. Actually I should be glad that I'm not the only one out there who is still on Audrey's side, but at the same time I can't fight the fear that there is somebody out there who wants to take her away from me again.

If that happens, I have to let her go.

She's lying there peacefully, looking back at me. Actually I thought she would have been tired, but it seems like she isn't. She's lying there, wide awake. Weak, but awake.  
I show her a little smile and this time, her smiles grows even bigger. Her whole face lights up for that little moment in which her brain tells her that everything is okay right now. She doesn't think of the past and the future. For now, that's good.

 _Audrey,_ I silently say. I wonder how she'll react upon hearing her name.

She remembers something. I'm sure nobody called her by her name in the past months. Hearing her name will bring back her memories of the good times, not the bad ones.  
If I could only read her thoughts.  
Was it wrong to say her name? To remind her of something, whatever thing it might be? Does she remember her life in Washington, with Boudreau now? I don't know. Does she remember our past life? Does she remember Heller, the White House, her past home? Or is it - in the end - something bad that came into her mind, when I said her name?

I guess it's the ladder. She doesn't look happy, not like before. Damn it, I shouldn't have done it.

She remembers something that makes her sad. She rips her eyes open in horror and stares at me.

 _It's alright,_ I hurriedly tell her, _Everything is okay._ If I only knew what's going on inside her head. If she could only talk to me.  
Something keeps her from doing it. I know now that she realizes this herself as well, but she can't do anything about it now. It frightens her. She wants to tell me something but she just can't.

 _You'll recover,_ I tell her, and grab her hands. Our faces are just a few inches apart as we look into each other's eyes. If she could speak, she'd tell me that she doesn't believe me. I can't read her mind, but I can see that much from the look in her eyes. It's been eleven years since I lived with her, but time doesn't matter. I still know her. I can still read from her eyes that she's trying to tell me how horrified she is. I always could, no matter if it was something that she silently tried to tell me during a business meeting or at night, when words had long been replaced by silence and nearness.

I'm not so sure if she wants me to come any closer, but I offer her to come into my arms.

She doesn't. Instead, she slightly slips away from me.

It hurts so much to see that. So much. She doesn't even know. One second she trusts me, in the next one she doesn't. I must have reminded her of something really bad when I said her name.

I have to get out of here and give her some time.

But just as I want to stand up she grabs the sleeve of my shirt. After all, she doesn't want me to leave.

I don't lie down next to her again. Instead, I sit down on the floor, leaning by back against the side of the bed. I'm not invading her comfort zone again but I'm close enough to make her feel not alone.

She slowly calms down, I can feel that. Her face shows no longer the anxious or terrified look. Instead, she rather looks afraid of seeing me leave her. She doesn't look like she wants to go to sleep again. I'm not even sure if she's tired at all. We slept so much throughout the past hours that none of us is tired. But she's too weak to be up on her feet.  
 _If you want to stand up, I'll help you,_ I tell her, silently.

She thinks for a few moments, until she finally, slightly, nods. I help her to stand up, cautious about every move that I make, not to scare her again, by saying or doing something wrong.  
With my help, she is able to walk. Her left arm is over my left shoulder, I'm holding her hand with mine. Her hand and arm are so skinny that I'm literally afraid of breaking her bones. My right hand is around her body, holding her tight. It's like I can feel any single one of her ribs through the shirt that she's wearing.

We walk a few steps. When I lead her over to the door, to walk around in the house, I sense that she's holding me back. She obviously doesn't want to leave the room. She's afraid of the outside world.

 _It's okay,_ I whisper into her ear, biting back calling her by her name again. No names. No 'honey' or 'sweetheart' or any other names as well. Names seem to remind her of her old life and she's obviously not able to cope with that.

We keep walking through the tiny room for I don't know how long. She's holding up surprisingly well- it must have been half an hour of being up on her feet until she gets tired. It's funny how little words we need to get along with each other. Actually none.  
I walk her back to the corner in which the blanket lies on the floor, but she sits down on the bed, instead. I'm stunned at first - but she really wants to take a rest on the bed, and leave her corner. It's a small sign of progress, one that cheers me up again, no matter if she doesn't speak to me or doesn't want to hear me say her name.

I grab the pillows and blankets from the floor and give them to her, and then I sit down on the only chair in the room, watching her, as she falls asleep.  
She doesn't want me too close, but she doesn't want to be left alone. I could see that during the minutes that it took for her to fall asleep, her eyes opened slightly from time to time, checking if I was still there.  
 _I'll be there for you, always,_ I say, silently enough not to wake her up.

I'd love to walk over and place a kiss on her forehead. But I am afraid of waking her up or even worse - frightening her by invading her privacy that way. It'll be a long way until she'll let me do something like this. Right now, I'm not even sure if we'll ever reach that point again in our lives.

It's a hard thing to cope with. She's so close but yet so far away. I'd do anything for her but I know already that I maybe won't get anything in return. I don't do it for getting something in return. I did all the things that I've done so far only for her, because I love her.  
I remember Russia. Over there, in the prison, I just wanted to pay for my sins to see her again in heaven one day. I remember my prayers.  
Looking at her now, I'm not so sure if they'll ever get true. If she doesn't even choose to be with me in this life - why would she be with me in my next?

Maybe I was just living on illusions, all the time.

I hear that Belcheck arrived back here. It's good that he rips me out of my thoughts, before they get any worse.

.

.


	33. переговоры

переговоры

.

.

Days passed - but they did it slowly.

I would like to look back at the past week as being one of the most beautiful of my life - but sadly, I can't. I guess I had a certain dream in the back of my head, when I started looking for Audrey, trying to get her out of hell. A part of my head had probably thought that if I'd just get her out of there, everything would be perfect again.

It isn't. I have to accept that. It's not a fairy tale, no 'and they lived happily ever after'. She doesn't run into my arms. I hadn't expected her to do so, but I have to admit that I at least hoped for something.  
It is painful to see that she wants me to stay at distance. No matter how painful it is, I respect her wish, even if I sometimes had to leave her, to find a lonely space for myself to let the pain out that it causes. She doesn't even know how much this hurts. It feels like she's ripping my heart out, when I offer her my help and instead of taking it she pushes me away, showing me her cold shoulder.  
It's awkward, what is going on inside her mind. She's okay with me when I help her get up from bed or walk around. Sometimes she even let me take her into my arms. But ever since she got a little bit stronger, those moments became less and less.

She's sitting in the back of the van now, while I'm in the front, together with Belcheck. He'll take us to Almaty, which is only a hundred miles away from the place where we hid during the past week, to the convent where we'll meet Jokhanna. Then he'll head back to Serbia and I'll be alone with Audrey - at the convent. My resources are limited, especially my financial ones. I can't afford to have him around, just as a bodyguard. Staying at the convent is also safe, at least for some time, and they'll hide me and Audrey for a decent amount of money. There will even be a doctor available - and I still hope that Audrey will let him have a look at her.

I hope that she'll manage to live there, among people. She hates Belcheck, either because he reminds her of the prison guards or just because he's a man - I don't even know which one is more horrible to her. I hope that she'll at least manage to trust Jokhanna and the others in Almaty. They're a bunch of sixty year old nuns, that'll help for sure.

And I'll have to find another role for myself. I'll be there, to protect her. Belcheck will leave me with a few guns and rifles, ammunition and some equipment to contact Chloe, just in case.

The closer Almaty gets, the more I realize that I don't really have a plan. I had one, up to now. But I didn't think any further ahead - probably because I subconsciously never expected it to make it out of China alive, and with Audrey.

Chloe called, two days ago. She said that the CIA and the White House were highly alarmed when they heard about me, having escaped from the Russians. She laid out a few breadcrumbs to lead them onto a wrong track, towards New Zealand. They won't be any problem- for now.

But I can't stay in Almaty forever, with Audrey. We'll stay there for two or three weeks, but I have no plan what to do then. What if she gets better? What if she wants to go 'home'?  
Right now, I'm not even sure if that would be possible at all. If the CIA found out where she was- they'd come and kill her, to resolve the huge political problem that was attached to her life.

I have to hide her.  
Right now, it's not that hard to hide her. She can barely walk for more than a few minutes. She still loves confined spaces and unless I put pressure on her, she didn't even want to leave her room up to now.

And she still hasn't said a single word.  
I'm getting worried that there might be a real problem - a physical one - but I couldn't find any scars on her throat. Hopefully it's just the trauma that doesn't let her speak. That will go by one day.

I'll have to make it go by. I have to help her get through that - but I have no idea how. Instead of a psychologist, I'm just another messed up soul myself.  
Now that the immediate pressure to find her, to fight and to run is gone, I can even see the symptoms of trauma in myself. They always come a few days after the pressure is gone. Since Audrey didn't want me that close any more throughout the past week, I slept on the sofa, in the living room of the house that we had rented, alone. It didn't take long for the nightmares to come, about being tortured. China. Russia. Sengala. And they all ended in horrible scenes of losing her.  
Most of the nights, I got up after just a few hours, silently checked if she was still okay and stayed awake because I didn't want to get another one of these nightmares. Sleeping a few hours during the day is better. Usually I don't have any nightmares when it's bright around. The nights are different.

Not even being up at night is bearable, not when I'm alone, with enough time to think about it all. I'm at the end of the world. I'm responsible for Audrey. I'm still being targeted by the Russians and probably the White House and the CIA, too, because of her. They could come any minute. Chloe is watching them, as well as she can, but she's not infallible.

Most of the nights I ended up sitting in the dark living room, a cup of coffee on the table in front of me, for that I'd not have to fall asleep again, and a gun in my hands.  
It's ridiculous, I know it.  
If anyone had found us, the gun would be of no use at all.  
But it is the thing that calms me down again, just enough to function properly.

I haven't yet found out what it would take to bring Audrey to such a state. I tried being there for her, I tried to talk to her, I tried to help her as well as I only could. But none of that was the key to her trauma. Maybe I'll find something in the weeks to come. I hope. I pray for it.

When we arrive at the convent in Almaty, I say goodbye to Belcheck. Audrey doesn't. She keeps herself away from him, and also away from everything else. She was feeling unwell, when we drove through the city, through such an awful lot of people.

Here, inside the thick walls of that convent - even if it is the middle of the city - she's starting to get better again.

She's still looking around, suspiciously, at everything and everyone who she sees. Right now I'm the only one who she trusts enough to be with- but probably only because she needs my help to walk.

When I introduce her to Jokhanna - who is a seventy year old nun - she at least doesn't have an urge to pull away or hide. She stays there, with me, holding on to my shoulder, while I talk to Jokhanna.

They prepared two rooms for us, adjacent ones. I lead Audrey to her room and leave one small bag - I don't have many things which belong to her - with her to let her unpack. The other two bags are heavy because of the guns. I carry them over to my room and close the door before I dare open them up and stow some of the guns in the closet, beneath the bed and one under my pillow.

That room feels like a cell. We're on the third floor and there's a window to the inner yard. The walls are white, the ceiling is high up and aside of the bed, a plain table with a chair, a sink with a mirror and a wardrobe, there's nothing in here.  
I sit down on the bed and look around.  
I hope Audrey doesn't see this as some kind of a cell. I hope she doesn't get the feeling of being locked up again. I better go over to her and see how she's doing.

Of course she doesn't answer, when I knock at her door. She doesn't speak. Why would she answer.  
I push the door open, for a gap, slowly, and I find her standing at the open wardrobe, putting the few pieces of clothing that were in her bag, in there. She's alright. I should have known. She was almost hiding behind the open door when she heard the knock, I guess, but other than that, she seems to be alright.

 _Can I come in?,_ I ask her. I don't expect much of a reaction. Even that nod that she gives me is so little that most other's wouldn't have even seen it. It's just as much communication as she's able to do right now.

 _My room is just nextdoor,_ I say, lying my hand onto the wall that will be separating us for the coming weeks. _In case you need anything._

She's staring at me, for an answer. Not even smiling. She's totally cold.

There's not much that I can do now. I'll have to leave her alone, though I don't want to. _Do you wanna go for a walk?,_ I offer. She can't take a walk on her own, she still needs my help.

But she declines, shaking her head. It's interesting - but shaking her head as a no is a means of communication which she is still able to make.

 _Maybe later?_

There it is again, the nodding that is so imperceptible that one almost doesn't see it.

 _I'll come back in an hour,_ I tell her, and leave her alone, before the situation becomes awkward. I don't want to intrude her privacy. If I do, she'll never trust me again. If she doesn't want to be with me, I won't put any pressure on her, even though hate to be out here, not knowing what's going on behind her door.

For a long time I stand in the corridor, just outside her room, staring at the door. She must feel trapped, like she was in a cell again. But she wouldn't feel well either, being in a place that wasn't as confined and lonely as this one. Probably I should have looked for a comfier place, not a room with such scarce furniture which could remind her of a cell again.  
I didn't have many choices - actually not any. This was the only place that I could think of, where we can hide, until she'll get better.

I should be there for her, but I don't know how. There are only five or six yards between us, but I feel helpless. Damn it, I was in her situation. Back then, I wanted nobody around me. I wanted to be alone. I didn't want to answer anyone's questions about anything. I didn't want their pity. I didn't want their offerings. I had become a loner, back then.  
Just like Audrey is one, now.

I have no idea how to change that.

I'll respect your wishes, Audrey. Even if you break my heart with it.

.

.


	34. Шопен

Шопен

.

.

Four days have passed since we arrived at the convent. Audrey is still not comfortable meeting other persons. I have to take her out of her cell and reassure her that everything is fine, before she'll take my help to walk around. We're making our way through the inner yards of the convent, I help her walk, to gain some strength again. We're doing it three times a day, and I can see a small piece of progress.

Probably it's just wishful thinking. But it's all I have. I don't do very much other than looking after her, and in the times in which she's alone in her room, not wanting me to stick around, I sit in my own, worrying about her.

She didn't let the doctor have a look at her. I didn't push her. She seems to be fine, and she seems to have no superficial wounds at all that give her any trouble. She'd tell me if she needed a doctor.  
When we were there I let him have a look at my right hand, because it still hurts. Actually, I wouldn't have needed his help, but I wanted Audrey to see that it was okay to trust him.  
He told me that one of my metacarpal bones, the one leading to the little finger, got broken at some point and grew back together in a displaced position. That's nothing new to me. I can feel that when I grope for it.

Another day, I tried to walk a different route with her, one that led us down into the garden where a few other people were. She hated to be there, she almost didn't trust me any more after that, refusing to walk with me again until I apologized to her and promised her not to take her to a place again where other people were.

Ever since we've arrived here, I'm slowly starting to get a track of days again. Today's Wednesday. The nuns of the convent have a quite strict schedule of prayers and church services. I'm not interested in that, but I see them disappearing into the church, every now and then, as a big uniform looking bunch of old women in their black robes.

I guess Audrey sees them too, from her window. Those are the times in which she's most comfortable to take a walk, because she knows that almost all of them are gone for an hour. I soon found out that when I come to her, a few minutes after one of their services starts, she's really happy to go for a walk. She knows that I consider this. Sometimes she almost manages to show me that she's thankful for it.

Today, she even let me take her down into the garden.

I just brought her back to her room - just in time before the nuns come out of the church again. I'm sure that she's doing the same right now, she's probably also standing at her window, looking down into the yard and the garden, where we just were.

I lie down at the bed and try to get some rests. My nightmares are still haunting me, every other night I wake up and I have a hard time not to go berserk. Once I hurt my right hand even more during sleep, I guess I thrashed around during one of my nightmares.  
If I could just make them stop. I don't know how to make them stop. After quite some of the traumatic experiences in my life, I had to fight such symptoms. They mostly needed months to get better.

In the hours in which I just lie here, without having anything to do, I wonder if Audrey also has nightmares. I guess so. She got hurt deeply. If I could only reach out, grab those memories and rip them out of her. If I could only make the past forgotten. I can't.

There's a knock on my door. I jump up and run over to open up, it could be-

No, it's not her. It's Jokhanna. She sees how disappointed I am, having expected Audrey.

 _There is something you should see,_ she tells me, in her bad English.

I'm curious. Suddenly afraid. Has this something to do with Audrey? Must be. No. Can hardly be. She wants me to come along but we just walk past Audrey's room, the door is closed. Audrey would never leave the room without me.

I follow Jokhanna through the hallways of the convent, up to the third floor. I know these corridors now all by heart, after walking through them two or three times per day. Walking with Audrey, we're so slow that I really had time to look at all the pictures on the walls, showing saints or blessed ones. Aside of their names being written in cyrillic, I have no idea of who they are.

She's leading me to the chapel at the end of the corridor. I was here before, together with Audrey. We even sat down for a while to let her rest, two days ago.

Jokhanna is telling me to be silent. I don't speak with her anyway... When she hears the noise of one of my footsteps she looks angrily at me, implicitly telling me not to make any sound.

It's all silent in the little chapel. Well, compared to the cathedral which is next to the convent, this is only a chapel. But in many villages, this place would be bigger than a usual church.

She waves her hand at the last one of the benches, telling me to sit down. It's hard to do that without making the old wood screetch.

I've been sitting here for half a minute when I hear the music. Somebody is playing a piano, up on the quire. The piano is not played very loudly, and the one playing it is not very good either.

Those are the first bars of Chopin's nocturnes.

I freeze, and stare at Jokhanna in disbelief.

She stands there, in the middle aisle and softly smiles back at me.

I can't talk to her, we have to be silent, not to interrupt what's going on here. She knows that and just nods at me, before she turns away and heads back out, leaving me back here, alone.

I'm alone down here, alone with the music.

This must be Audrey.

I try to look up, but the quire, where the piano is, is way above my head, one floor up. I can't see her. But I can hear her.

She's out of practice. She begins again, numerous times, playing the same bars over and over again until she finds the right notes. I guess she doesn't have any scores up there.

It's a mere wonder how much of this song she remembers by heart.

It always was one of her favorite ones. I don't know how many times I heard her play it.

It is a sad piece of music, a depressive sound that has the potential to make the listener cry. If I do, then only out of pure happiness, that she's now found something to express herself with.  
When we came here, two days ago, somebody also played up there, on the piano, that's how she must have noticed it that there was such an instrument, here in this chapel. I still wonder, how she made it out of her room, all alone and without my help. It's quite some distance to walk, up the stairs and over to this place. The staircase up to the quire looks tiny and steep.  
I don't even know if this is the first time that she came here. If Jokhanna hadn't told me, I wouldn't even know.

She keeps on playing.  
I keep on listening. I sit here, in the last row, and I can't help but pray, to thank whoever is out there. Throughout all these past days, I was so ignorant and unthankful. She is out of hell. We made it past the border. Right now, we're safe. That's more than I ever dreamt of, a few weeks back. That's already so much. Our lives could be so much worse.

I don't know for how long I just sit and listen.

She doesn't stop playing. After a while, she even gets a lot better. Given that she hasn't played in months, she's playing virtuosically. She must be exhausted up there, but she's finally found something to let her pain out, even I can hear that. There is only sad music that I hear. Deep tones. Minor chords.

I don't know all the pieces. She often comes back to the Chopin's nocturnes. I know them. They were her favorite thing to play twelve years ago and obviously that hasn't changed in the meantime. She most likely doesn't have any scores up there so she only plays the things that she knows by heart.

Closing my eyes, I can forget the past twelve years and think back to the times when she played. I'm sprawling at the couch again, watching her back as she sits at her black grand piano, dissolving into the music. Even though she let me listen back then, at one point she surely forgot that I was there. Judging from the sound, I could always tell how she felt like.  
I'd give so much to make the past twelve years undone. I'd like to get time turned back and pick up from where we were, back then.

So drowned in thoughts, I almost don't realize that her playing stops at one point.

I look at my wrist watch. One and a half hours have passed since Jokhanna brought me here. God only knows how long Audrey was here already. She must be tired. Totally exhausted, in her state.

Trying not to make a sound I crouch down to hide. I can't let her see me here, she'd think I had been spying on her... The stairs are making some noise as she walks down so that makes it easier for me as well not to attract her attention.  
Hiding behind the backrest of the church bench I watch her through a tiny gap, as she slowly makes her way down the steep staircase, holding on tightly to the only handrail on one side. She's weak in her legs. They almost give in one or two times.

How much do I want to just rush over to her and help her.

I can't. She needs to do things alone again, I realize. It's great that she screwed up all her courage and left her room at all. If I keep patronizing her, she'll hate me for it and she'll shut herself away even more than she does now.  
I will hide. Even if she falls. I'll only get out of hiding if it is about life or death.

She made her way down to the main hall. She looks around once and then she checks if there's anyone out in the corridor, before she dares to step outside.  
I get out of my hiding place and follow her.

I watch her from a safe distance, how she slowly walks along the wall, holding on to things, to the drawers, the cupboards, desperately seeking for support.  
My heart is bleeding to see her like this. She must do this alone. It'll give her back the confidence that she lost.

Before she enters her room again, she looks around once more. Her eyes don't find me.

But I see the smile on her face.

She made it.  
I walk down the stairs, too, and sit down at the lowest steps of the staircase, watching her door.

I can't help her get better. This process is something that involves nobody else but her. I didn't need anyone's help to get better, years ago. I didn't even want anyone to help me.  
Even now, nine years later, I can still not put it into words - the why. People always felt obliged to help me, especially my friends. Just like I feel obliged to help her, even though it's the wrong thing to do.

I only needed time for myself.

Audrey doesn't need my help. She needs time for herself.

It's damn hard to make one step back.

I get up and walk back over into my room, opening and shutting the door as silently as I can.

When I lie down at the bed and close my eyes, I can still hear the beginning of Chopin's nocturnes. I hope they'll take me to sleep without any more nightmares.

.

.


	35. водка

водка

.

.

What I'm doing is wrong, I know it, but... damnit, I don't know why I'm doing this. It makes no sense at all but right now it is the only thing that helps.  
Three more days. No sleep. Nightmares. Yesterday night I woke up screaming - I lay in my bed and all I hoped for was that Audrey hadn't heard me. Had she? I don't know for how long I'd been thrashing around and screaming at the pictures in my head to let go of me.

I was soaked in sweat when I stood up. There was no way in which I could have continued to lie there. Maybe sleep would have gotten the better of me - a horrible prospect, given the thought that I'd only get back into another one of these nightmares. They are an assembly of the worst things that have happened to me in the past six months.  
Consciously, I don't even remember them any more. I am good at pushing things out of my mind. Otherwise, I wouldn't have survived up to now. I don't remember getting stung by poisonous scorpios in Sengala, I don't remember being so weak that I couldn't even get to my feet on my own, I don't remember how that Chinese soldier steps on my right hand breaking every bone in it.  
At least not during daylight.  
But I remember it when I sleep. Somehow it creeps back into my mind, every other night. All the worst moments get mixed up to one horrible scene. It's like drowning. They are a hundred times bigger than I am. I'm helpless against them when they come.

Yesterday, after I got up, I wasn't sure whether Audrey had heard me or not. If she had: was she lying in her bed now, wide awake, thinking that there was an assault going on and that they'd come to her next?  
That was my only fear.  
I went over to her room, silently I opened up the door and went inside.

She was lying in her bed, looking like she was asleep. I wasn't sure if she really was asleep or if she was only pretending.

I knelt down next to her bed. She lay there, curled up in a ball, in the corner, her back to the wall, covered by that blanket up to her chin.  
Was she slightly shivering?  
I still don't know that. Yesterday night, I almost thought she was. Probably she had heard me and was now only pretending to be asleep.

I didn't want to wake her up.  
I murmured _everything is alright,_ so quietly that she wouldn't wake up if she was asleep but still hear me if she was only pretending.

She relaxed, I guess. Or was that only wishful thinking?

I closed the door to her room, silently, and then I stood outside in the hallway, not knowing what to do, surrounded by darkness.

Going back to sleep was not an option. Neither was going back into my room. I always felt like trapped in a cell, whenever I was in there.  
I started walking through the building.  
There was an exit, through one of the many doors to the adjoined church, and one exit from the church to the street. Actually, they were my emergency getaway route.

I used it, not thinking of any consequences.

The Kazach night was livelier than I had thought. We're in the middle of the city, that must be the reason. The clock on the church tower showed two thirty in the night.

I could damn myself for being so reckless. I went down the street, wearing the clothes that I'd been sleeping in. I always slept in usual street clothes, just in case we'd have to make a sudden getaway.  
But when I went down that street I didn't even wear a basecap or sunglasses or anything to hide my face with. That's stupid.

It was more stupid to sit down on a bench in one of the pedestrian areas, looking at the groups of people who were still on the street at that time. Mostly young people. Eighty per cent of them already drunk.

I sat there, wishing I was drunk as well. It was a tempting thought - because that was one of the few things that could stop the nightmares. Alcohol. Years ago, it allowed me to sleep. If I only drank enough, the pictures of Cheng didn't get to me in that night.

It was so tempting to go into one of these bars and have a drink. I even had some money in one of the pockets.

I was so weak.

I sat at the bench for a few more minutes only, before I chose the darkest bar and went inside. A dark bar - one where no selfie-addicted young people would go. One that was not too big to have CCTV cameras and no so small that people would remember me.

I ordered a vodka, drowned it, ordered a second one and thereafter a full bottle which I took with me.

I hadn't had anything to drink in over seven months. The alcohol got to me, almost immediately.

I don't know how I made my way back 'home'. When I woke up, today morning, I found myself lying in my bed in my room, the shoes still on. Looks like I got here all by myself. More than half of the bottle was still there, standing on my bedside table.  
Seeing that, I was sure that I had come back by myself. If anyone had needed to help me, I'm sure they would have poured the rest of the vodka away and not left the bottle there.

I had a massive headache. But for the first time in days, I wasn't tired any more. I had knocked myself out with that stuff, to get at least one night of sleep. I had worked, but still I felt guilty. I had brought myself and Audrey into danger. Massive danger. Not only by leaving the house, also by getting myself into a state where I couldn't defend us any longer.  
When I woke up today morning, I didn't even know how I had made my way back. What a disaster.

I grabbed the bottle and immediately hid it in the closet- but I wasn't even sure if somebody had already seen it. Had they seen me come back? Had I been noisy? Had I woken Audrey up again? I hope not. She's the last person on earth who I'd even want to see me like this.

At least is was early enough to wake up. I had forgotten to close the blinds of my window so the early morning sun woke me up at seven in the morning. Usually I bring Audrey some breakfast around eight.

When I went into her room an hour later, I watched out for signs, but I didn't find any. Probably she hadn't heard me or seen me in my awful state. She was just silent as always, when she sat across me at the table, and today I wasn't even too sad about that, because of my headache.

She still didn't talk to me.  
She got a lot better in the last week, gained back some weight and strength and she needed less and less help to walk. Her nightly ritual of going up to that chapel and playing Chopin obviously helped as well. I followed her two more times, but then she seemed to be able to do this on her own. I stopped following her and spying after her. I have my own nightly problems to deal with.

Today we went around in the house and in the gardens, our typical daily route. She doesn't need me to hold her any more, she doesn't even needed to grab my arm. She's recovering. I'm glad.

Then the evening came. She retreated into her room, I retreated into mine.

Now I'm lying here again, like always, wide awake or at least trying to be wide awake. If Audrey hadn't been there - I don't know if I would have already taken my gun to blow my brains out just to stop these pictures from coming back. Probably I wouldn't have. I would have bought a stiff drink to get the pictures out of my head.

Lying here I squint at the wardrobe. Half of the bottle of vodka is still over there. That's way more than needed to have a good night's sleep.

I can't do this again, no. It'll leave me and Audrey unguarded. If anyone came to harm us, I wouldn't be able to fight back... probably I wouldn't even notice. I can't do this.

I keep lying there, for hours.

Weirdest thoughts come. Even though I manage to keep my eyes open, now these pictures even start haunting me while I'm still awake. My subconsciousness wants me to deal with everything that happened to me in the past seven months. It seeks closure, even if it destroys me with that.

I'm not hungry now but I remember almost starving to death, on the way back from Sengala.  
It's cold in here but I remember the heat and the humidity inside that sea container that made it hard to breathe.  
I'm covered with a blanket but nevertheless I remember the icy cold of the Russian winter. Things that I never want to experience again.

The worse memories are yet to come, I know. They just haven't reached me yet, today. They will come, maybe in an hour, maybe in two, or maybe in five minutes, when I'll no longer be able to keep my eyes open.

I throw the blanket aside and sit up in bed. Don't lie down again. You'll fall asleep and that's not good.

I sit there, staring into the darkness. There's nothing to do. I've already cleaned, inspected, disassembled and put together my guns a hundred times. I've already had a look at the city map a thousand times, I know exactly what the best route to escape is, I know how to get in and out of that convent unseen, if necessary. I guess my enemies would needed a really long time to find that out.

I get up and count the money again which is hidden in various places all over the room. Around seven million Tenge. That sounds like it's a lot, but it's not. Those aren't even twenty thousand Dollars. That's enough for one getaway. It's pretty much all I have.  
I had to pay a lot for the travel to get here, unseen. I had to pay a lot for the weapons, for the house that we were at, for the car, Belcheck, for staying here. Three of my four bank accounts are empty. Plus I had to ask Mark for money. I hated it, but he had sufficient funds, after selling his and Audrey's house. I guess he somehow felt obliged to spend half of the money - Audrey's half - for her and not for a new place for himself. I was always good at reading people. As he gave me the money, he looked like felt obliged to do it. For her. Sometimes I really forgot how much that guy still loves her. He would have done anything. When I told him that there's a chance that she's alive, he didn't even question me. He went all-in, just like me.

I put the money back. That's all I have now. One getaway.

On my way here, I didn't spend one second thinking about a possible getaway. I postponed it to later - actually to now - to think about the next steps.

I still haven't made a plan. Every other day I keep telling myself that Audrey is not yet ready to get away from this place, but it's just to evade the decision. I have one shot. We can travel to one other place, but that's it. I could use the money and buy an old house somewhere in Kazakhstan, to stay there indefinitely. It's an option, but I feel bad about it. That's not how I want Audrey to spend the rest of her days.  
I could use the money to travel back to Serbia with her. Better, but again, it's not a life that I'd want her to live.

I can't think of any place that I'd want her to live at, which is safe and which I can afford to bring us.

She deserved so much better. I can't give her that.

I hate to make that decision regarding her whole future life.  
That's why I put the money back and postpone the decision again. One more day. She's nowhere well enough to leave, anyway, I keep telling myself.

The bottle of vodka is talking to me. _Take me,_ it says, loudly, the bold black Cyrillic letters tell me that they're the medicine against the tiredness that I always feel because of not sleeping. _You deserve one more night of sleep,_ they say.

They're right. I do deserve one night of sleep. After barely sleeping for such a long time I've already been running around like a zombie. I'm not a big help for Audrey either in that state or the other. If I go for three more days without sleep I don't know if I'd be able to defend us then.

I grab the bottle and take a big gulp of vodka.

Actually, I hate it, I must admit. I hate the way it burns down my throat, it almost hurts to drink that stuff. That gets slightly better after the third or fourth slug.

The room suddenly feels really small. I have to check on the two guns that I hid on the way out, I remember. I haven't checked on them in two days. Awfully long.  
But maybe my brain is just searching for an excuse to leave again.

It's one a.m. in the morning now. Everything is silent out in the hallway. Not even a faint sound of Audrey playing the piano up in the chapel. It's past her usual time, anyway.

Getting more and more drunk I stagger down to the ground floor and check on the two guns that are fixed behind the picture frame of a mighty portrait of some saint. Of course the guns are still there. Of course they're still loaded. Of course, everything on this end of my escape plan is okay. The nuns would never search for or find these guns.

I have to fight the wish to leave the house again. I've been trapped here for too long, I hate to stay within these mighty walls but they're something to protect Audrey and me. I'm not yet drunk enough to forget that. Thank god.

While I wearily stagger back to the third floor, where our rooms are, I drink the rest of the bottle. I don't know how long it takes to get back. There's nobody but me who's still up at that time. I'm alone and I know it.

The empty bottle is still in my hands as I climb the last one of the steps. I have to hide it and get rid of it... someday. Doesn't matter, as long as nobody finds it in the meantime.  
I wonder what kind of details my mind is still able to think about. Lucky me.

I walk over to my door - as I suddenly freeze.

I'm standing at one side of the corridor, Audrey is standing at the other. Looks like she's just coming back from the chapel.

I almost drop the empty bottle. Does she see it, that I'm completely wasted?  
Of course she does. There's an empty bottle in my hand, and I have to hold on to the wall not to wobble.

She says nothing. Of course she says nothing.

I want to say something - to apologize - but I can't get any words out. I can't even think of any words.

She hurriedly opens her door and slips into her room, locking the door from the inside.

I dash over, already lift my hand to knock at it, but then I realize how inappropriate that would be. I'd be harassing her. There's nothing I could say or do to make the situation better.

I hate myself. I hate that bottle in my hand. I hate having bought it the night before. I hate my nightmares. I hate everything.

It's only three yards over to my door, but the way feels endlessly long.

Right now, I don't even care to hide the bottle. Who from, anyway? She's already seen it.

I sit down at the bed. Probably I should hope for a resting sleep without nightmares but the adrenaline of meeting Audrey, so unexpectetly, keeps my pulse up.

I should have never done this.

Damn it.

.

.


	36. Похмелье

Похмелье

.

.

I hate having a hangover. Especially this one.

I'm not as tired as before - those were two nights in a row in which I could get some sleep - but today the headache is so massive that I almost forget to cheer about having been able to sleep. The aspirin that I took after waking up still hasn't made it better. It's useless against hangovers.

The worst thing is not the headache.

The worst thing is Audrey.

I even missed breakfast. Usually I get up around seven, head down to the kitchen and get something for the both of us that we eat at the table in her room.

It's eight thirty. I shut the blinds yesterday and nothing woke me up earlier, not even my inner clock. I hurriedly run downstairs, now that I've realized that I'm late and grab the usual things.

Having arrived back up at the third floor I cautiously knock at Audrey's door, like I do every morning. Probably she hasn't yet realized that I'm late? No. She has a clock. She has nothing else to do and I even made sure that our daily routine is strict, to give her something to hold on to. She knows that I'm late.

I don't wait for an answer. She doesn't talk, so she never answers, when I knock at her door.

But as I want to go inside - as every morning - I find the door locked.

 _Audrey?_

No response. I knock again, harder this time. _Audrey?_

Still no response. I'm getting worried. Is she alright? Is she just upset or is something wrong with her?

I have to fight the urge to kick in the door to find out how she is.

Stay calm. She's alright. It's you who fucked this up. She locked the door yesterday night when she saw me, right?  
Damn it, it's hard to remember.

I just remember that she saw me - in that awful state. I'd really like to know what she thought in that moment. Disgust? Distrust? That I leave her unprotected? That I wouldn't care about her?  
That's at least what I thought about myself in that moment. I took a silly risk. I told myself that everything had been alright the night before and that nobody would come for us that night. What a nonsense. Yesterday night had been the most dangerous night of all. The one after I had visited the outside world.

I guess I totally lost all my instincts.

The tray with our breakfast in my hands, I yield back from her door, to the other side of the corridor. I sit down just opposite her door, put the tray down and lean back against the wall. I can do nothing but wait and fight the headache and the awful guilt.

It takes a while.  
Forty minutes later, I see that the little light that shone through the keyhole gets interrupted - she's looking - and a few moments later she unlocks the door.

I keep sitting there. She's standing in her door, staring at me. I don't know what to say, except for telling her that _I'm sorry._

She acts like she doesn't even hear it. No sign. No reaction. But she steps aside, making way for me to come inside her room with our breakfast.

Have I broken her trust beyond repair with this?  
She's fragile, I should have known.

 _I'm sorry, Audrey,_ I say, as I sit down opposite her.

She shakes her head slightly, a gesture that shows me that she doesn't want to hear anything.

I already wanted to say something like 'I never wanted you to see me like this' - but I refrain from doing it. That's even more stupid. Like telling her I'm doing things like that every day behind her back. It would sound dishonest.

 _I'll get us some new coffee, this one is cold,_ I tell her and take the two cups with me. That's more or less an excuse to get out of here for a moment, because I don't know what else to say. We usually don't talk very much. I'm out of things to tell her, I feel like I already said everything. Some topics were off limits - politics, the past seven months, our private lives, the future... pretty much every important topic was off limits. The non-important things were all already said.

When I come back, I have nothing to say. I apologize again, but she shows no reaction. I don't know what else to do or say. I'm sorry, that's it. It was a mistake. I won't do it again. This was a one-time only thing... even though it was two nights long.

We make our daily round through the garden. This time she doesn't even take my arm. I should have been glad, but I somehow fear that there were other reasons than a sudden increase in her strength.

Evening comes. Like every night, I bring dinner from the kitchen and we eat it in her room. My headache is gone now but the sorrows are still there.

I haven't addressed that topic again, not once, during the day. When we're finished with dinner I feel like it's the last possible time to say something.

 _Audrey, I need to talk to you... about yesterday night,_ I begin, and even though I can see that she is not comfortable with the situation, I just go on, _it was yesterday night only..._ _I'm not doing this every night,_ I sigh, I take a deep breath, not because I'd need one but because it gives me a second to think, _I'm sorry. It won't happen again._  
This was no explanation. This wasn't even an excuse.

She stands up from the table and walks over to the window. I sit there for a few moments, looking at her back, but that's obviously her answer, her way of telling me that she doesn't want to talk about it.

 _I can't let myself go like that.. I know that and I won't, I promise.,_ I tell her, take the tray and stand up.

This is unfinished business. She doesn't want to hear me but I have to say it. _I haven't been able to sleep in weeks... maybe you even heard me._

I already want to go, but my words seem to have triggered something in her. She turns around, looking into my eyes. I'm spellbound by that look. It's so rare that she even looks at me... and right into my eyes...

 _One night,_ I say, _I just wanted to be able to close my eyes for one damn night without seeing it all again._

'seeing it all again'. It triggered something in her, again. It's the first time that I referenced to something that happened in the past seven months. She hugs herself and her view drops to the floor again.  
She remembers something. I'd love to go over and just take her into my arms, but when I make a small step towards her, she instantly yields back. This is not the right time to get closer to her.

I take the tray and leave her alone.

* * *

It's night again. I have nothing to drink, and swear to god, I don't want to have anything. It creates problems which are so much worse than these nightmares. I'll just have to face them, even though I'm already back to my usual pattern: trying not to sleep.

It doesn't work. I'm tired and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Lying in bed doesn't help, but even though I don't wanna sleep, I know that I have to give my body some rest. I'm not yet fully recovered. It'll take months to get everything back.

Like the times when that Russian doctor took care of me. He was good. He was the only nice person over there. Not like the guards. They sold me. I don't know what the price was, for an hour or two, 'alone' with me. Most of the times they put a black hat over my head. I don't even know who the people were that came to have their fun or their revenge or whatever with me. Most of the time, they used waterboarding, because it left no traces. Before the court sentence came, they still had to keep me in a presentable state.

They held me down, put a wet towel over the black hat and let water run over it. It gets hard to breathe. I feel like drowning. We simulated that, a thousand times, during training, but in no way can it prepare you for reality. You don't know when they'll stop. It feels like they're going on forever, I can't breathe... I want to scream and shout but I have to save my breath. A hard blow against my upper body suddenly forces all the air out of my lungs, it hurts but I feel like drowning, even more now. The pain is secondary. It's pure panic that takes over. Fuck the pain... I'm dying!

Suddenly my eyes are open. Dark room. Moonlight coming through the blinds. A picture of a saint on the wall next to me.  
I must have fallen asleep for I don't know how long. Could be five minutes or two hours. Damn it. At least I'm glad that I woke up early enough. Usually that dream goes on, way longer, and the things that happen to me in the end... they're too bad to describe.

I take a deep breath and stretch, still wondering what woke me up so early, when I feel something at my right arm. A touch of someone. A hand.

It's Audrey.

She's kneeling next to my bed. She's the one who woke me up.

I stare into her eyes. They have a sad but understanding glance in them.

 _Thank you,_ I quietly say to her, _for waking me up._

She even manages to give me a little smile. Still, she doesn't pull her hand away from my upper arm, which she pressed slightly to get me out of my nightmare.

 _Did I wake you up?,_ I ask her. Why else would she be here, over in my room?

She shakes her head, slightly.

I would love to ask her what the reason was to come over here, but I know that she can't answer such a question. I'm stuck to the yes and no game.

 _I'm sorry for last night,_ I say once more, hoping that she'd understand it now, _I keep seeing these things, they're coming back every other night... don't even wanna close my eyes or sleep any more..._

She lets go of me, crosses her arms on the side of my bed and rests her head on her arms, as if she was getting ready to listen to a longer story or stay there for a really long time.

As I look into her eyes, I would like to tell her everything. Every thing. She wouldn't be able to handle that. But there's nobody in the whole world who I'd want to talk to, except her. It's in this moment, when I first realize why: because she experienced the same things.  
Years ago, I wanted to see and meet nobody, when we got out of captivity. Except her.

Maybe that is the key to everything.

I hope that I won't scare her away with what I'm about to tell her now.

 _I'll do everything to keep us safe here, Audrey,_ I hesitatingly begin, _I won't let anybody hurt you, ever again. We're out of there...,_ I take a deep breath, holding it, looking into her eyes to see a reaction, but there's none, _These things keep following me, in my thoughts, in my mind, subconsciously they're always there, and they will be, for a long time. I know how that works... unfortunately._

I wonder how calm she is. I expected her to get up and run after so many references to bad things. But she's coping better than expected.  
 _I don't know how I can help you, sweetheart, sometimes I feel like a blind leading a blind... It might not look like it, but I'm just as messed up as you are._

She slightly nods, seeming to understand... to agree...

 _It will take months for us to recover, at least for me..._ I close my eyes, lying there. _I just wanna get some sleep for once._

Her hand goes back to my shoulder, resting there almost weightlessly. It looks like she won't leave.

I can't even find words to tell her how glad I am.

But maybe she sees my smile.

.

.


	37. соловей

соловей

.

.

I haven't spent such a good night in... it feels like ages. Six months with nights full of real physical pain. One month with nights only worrying about Audrey. And three more weeks with constant nightmares, after the immediate danger had been gone and the subconsciousness had taken over.

I don't know how often she had to wake me up tonight, but it seems like she always managed to do it just in time, before the pictures got really bad. I guess some times I even got back to sleep without really waking up or opening my eyes.

I am not tired any more. I'm well rested. I'm not haunted by the last picture of the last horrible nightmare. For the first time in... it feels like ages.

But that's not even the best thing.

When I woke, just a few moments ago - I found her lying in bed, with me. I don't know when or how that happened. Must have been her decision, at some point in the night. I'm lying underneath the blanket and she's lying on top of it, but right at my side... the tiny bed didn't leave that much space. She just had to come close.

She must be freezing, sleeping here without a blanket. I take my end of it and put it over her. She's so slim that it doesn't even matter that she's lying on top of one half of the blanket, it still fully covers her body. But my moves make her wake up.

I guess she doesn't quite believe it herself where she ended up that night.

 _Good morning,_ I quietly say to her, smiling.

I'm so glad that she smiles back. She doesn't seem to regret her decision.

 _Thanks for... doing what you did._

Her smile even gets bigger.

 _Do you want some breakfast?,_ I ask her. She nods yes and I leave her back alone in my bed, cradled into my blanket. Not that I want to leave her - if it was only my choice, I'd stay there and hold her forever. But we're not there yet. I'm already so happy that she came over... that she stayed with me... that she got that close. I will not ruin it by going too fast.

Today I'm loaded with a thousand volts of energy. I jump down the stairs, taking three steps at a time, to the kitchen on the base floor to get our breakfast.

For the first time at all, we have breakfast it in my room. Everything is familiar, but different, at the same time. Strange. Interesting.

I'm not sure what to do. Will she stay over here, with me? I don't think so. But if I don't fuck things up again, I guess she'll come back tonight.

Finally, I found the key to her: showing her that I'm just as messed up as she is. I concealed it and hid it from her, because I thought all the time that it would make her nervous, to be 'protected' by somebody who might not even be up to it. I tried to play a role, all the time. Be strong. Never show her that I can break as well. Never show her that I'm not well.  
Bullshit. I should have known better. I should have been honest, to myself and to her. I'm just a messed up human being. We went through the same things, partly even together. We share the same scars on our bodies. How could I only hide mine from her and at the same time believe she'd show me hers.

My cheerful mood continues into the day. I have the feeling that she eats more today, her appetite seems to grow quickly. Mine as well, since I'm not tormented by a headache today.

We have our usual forenoon stroll through the garden in the inner yard of the building. Today she grabs my arm again, but not for support. As we walk, she's leaning against my side. I put my arm around her, and she's okay with it. The day gets better and better.

We end our usual walk - already a little later than on the days before, and I walk with her, up the stairs to the corridor where our rooms are. I can't lead her back to my room, no. Heavy heartedly I bring her over to her own door, where I let go of her for the first time after a real while.

She looks happy, as she walks in and turns back to me before she finally closes the door behind her. I am happy. That's a rare feeling.

It stays throughout the whole day. We have dinner, in my room again. Candlelight dinner. Well, getting two candles and switching off the light was an easy exercise around here, in the convent. It's somehow romantic - which bothers me for a moment - but Audrey seems to like it. She's open for changes, it seems. She is ready to break her daily routine that gave her stability in the past weeks.

I haven't talked that much in ages. I tell her about my nightly trip to the city center, two days ago. She listens closely an aside of nodding and shaking her head, she also found a third option to communicate with me: smiling. Some times it's even accompanied by a laughter - it comes so naturally. When she hears herself, her voice, for the first time, laughing, she almost startles.

I come back from the kitchen, from bringing the plates and the tray back, but she's not in my room anymore... Does she not want to stay, like yesterday? A cold shiver grabs me and shakes me, until I hear her open up the door to my room again, coming back in.  
She only went to get her pillow and her blanket. Looks like she's gonna stay.

I can't put it into words how happy I am right now. Our lives could continue like this, forever.

Lying down with her is even better. One of the candles is still burning, now on the bedside table. I'll leave it on, that way I can see her face, next to mine, whenever I open up my eyes.

It's hard to fall asleep today. Not because of the nightmares, no. Not because of not being tired - I am. But I can't fall asleep. I want to savor this moment forever.  
She's lying right next to me, having snuggled up to me. It's an old, tiny bed for one that we're sleeping in right now, so we have to be close anyway.  
She looks happy, I can read that from her face. Her eyes are closed, probably she already fell asleep some minutes ago. She's a light sleeper... has always been. She'll notice it, when things come haunting me again.

Five more minutes I am at odds whether I should kiss her good night or not. Too intrusive. Too personal. Too soon. Too... fuck it. Just do it.

I place a soft kiss on her forehead, right beneath her hairline and murmur _good night._ Now that concludes the first perfect day.


	38. идеально

идеально

.

.

Every other day I fear that the series of perfect days could end any moment. It hasn't ended yet - but this all is so fragile that I don't really allow myself to get my hopes up. This is too good to be true. Something will happen, something bad. It always does. I've never been happy for too long, not once in my life. The day will come. Soon, I fear. And the higher my hopes get, the deeper I'm gonna fall.  
I don't want to fall. But I will. I always do.

Most of the times it was my fault that everything went down the drain. I fucked up my marriage. I could have quit working for the army and in the intelligence sector right after Kim was born, then everything would have been different. I made so many decisions that I regret. That raid on the Chinese embassy. That ruined my relationship with Audrey. Freaking out after Renee's death. That ruined my life completely. Allowing Kate to handle the situation with Audrey... Stop it. I'll have time to think about all the mess when it goes bad again.

It's hard not to ruin the perfect moments with memories about the past.

She looks so gorgeous. It is a real pleasure to feel her warmth and every single one of her moves, while she rests her body against mine. We're half sitting, half lying at the bed in my room ever since lunch.

The past days have gone beyond my imagination. Though she still doesn't speak a word, that almost doesn't matter right now. We understand each other even without words.

She has stayed with me, five days in a row now already. She stays really close. Slept in my bed every night, spent the days with me. Two days ago she even took me with her, in the late evening, up to the chapel where the piano is. I acted surprised, when she showed it to me.  
With a big smile she sat down at the long bench in front of it and she let me listen. Even I got my turn to show her that I still fail miserably at Chopin.

It sounded like heaven when she took back over and played. The acoustics of the chapel and the low vibrations of the music are a perfect match- like made for each other.  
I don't know how often she came up here to play, in the past two weeks, but she really improved ever since the first night in which I heard her play up there. It almost sounded like 'home', like twelve years ago, when we sat in her living room.

That night, I just closed my eyes and tried to forget everything in between and imagine it was twelve years ago again. Lying at her sofa, watching her back as she sat at her grand piano. How sad to come back to this reality.

I play around with one of her blonde strands as she leans towards me now. She's asleep, or at least at rest. Nevertheless a smile is on her face, it got bigger ever since I started playing around with her hair. She's awake, I'm pretty sure.

I try to hide it from her, how concerned I am that everything will go down the drain. It would be so bad to tell her the truth- that we're in the middle of a foreign country, surrounded by enemies, that the CIA and some people in the White House would like to see her dead... that I have barely any resources to bring us away from here or to grant us a life in peace. Freedom would be too much to ask. We will never be free. I won't. I'm pretty sure that she won't ever be free again, either. Not as long as the CIA and the White House want to hide or kill the fact that she's alive.

Does she know all that? Does she even know in what kind of danger she is? I'm not sure.

Right now she looks almost happy, snuggling up to me. She got a lot stronger. If I took her for a walk, outside, she'd probably manage. People would no longer stop and stare at the person next to me. She's still skinny, but she doesn't look sick any more.

Even I got a little better. I'm trying to work out every day, doing pushups and sit-ups and other exercises, first of all not to freak out here inside these walls and secondly to prepare for... fighting. It's hard to admit the real reason. Fighting. A fight is going to come. It's just a matter of time. Either tonight, or in a week, a month or years from now.

I'm not sure if Audrey realizes that. She seems to be having fun watching me work out - today we were both in such a joyful mood that I let her try to sit on my back while doing pushups - I even managed to do three before collapsing to the ground, where both ended up laughing.  
No, she doesn't realize in what danger she is. She can't. Otherwise she'd not lie here in my arms now, looking happy like she does.

 _It's time to get up,_ I quietly tell her, _we could go for a walk._

She slightly nods her head yes, but grabs my shirt and keeps lying there.

 _Looks like I'll have to carry you._ I grab her her by her shoulders and underneath her knees to lift her up, that's when she finally opens her eyes and starts laughing.

We have our usual stroll through the gardens, walking arm in arm. During the past days, we really got close. But there is a border somewhere, that nobody dares to cross. We're sleeping in a bed. We're walking arm in arm. She snuggles up to me and I try to keep her close as often as I can. But not more. Not one kiss, not even a tiny one. We've kept our clothes on, all the time. We have our reasons, that's sad but true. If she can't even speak with me, how should she handle all the other things that she'd inevitably see? No chance. I can't get closer.  
Maybe even Mark is a reason for her not to get closer to me. Maybe she misses him and just can't tell me that she does. After all, she got ripped out of a well-running relationship when the London attacks went down.

I don't even want to ask her - because I'm not sure if I could handle an answer like that... or does she even remember that guy?

She's walking right next to me but at some moments, all the thoughts that haunt me make it feel like she's lightyears away. She's married. We're both haunted by the most powerful institutions on this planet. CIA. White House. The Chinese. The Russians. I'm not sure how many more are on my personal list. Must be half the world.

We're doomed, damn it we are. I can't let this show.

If I only knew what's going on inside her head. During the past days, she smiled and laughed so often that there's a real possibility that she forgot everything else. Would be good for her, for now - but I can't hide the real world from her forever. It is waiting, behind these doors, behind these walls, and in just a few weeks time, we need to leave from here. We can't stay here indefinitely.

We're not even done yet with our usual stroll through the garden, when Yokhana comes rushing towards us, a phone in her hands. I see it from far, that this is a phone call, meant for _me_. That can't be anything good.

A man from Montenegro is on the line. I only talk in yes and no, but even Audrey can immediately spot that something's wrong.

He is the man who has contact with Igor, Belchek's 'uncle'. He always is the middle man between Serbia and here, not to leave too many traces.

He's telling me that my sister wants to speak with me.

That's the code that we agreed on, meaning Chloe wants me to contact her.

Must be something important.


	39. сообщение из дома

сообщение из дома

.

.

For the first time in weeks, I don't want Audrey to be by my side. But at the same time, I can't make her go away. I can't tell her not to listen, even though I'd still love to hide the outside world from her.

This phone call means we're in trouble.

I hurried back to our rooms, she already had a hard time following me. If this call means that we're in danger,... I have other sorrows now than to care if Audrey can keep up with my fast steps.

Of course she followed me back to my room and while I hurriedly unlock the door, she expectantly stands next to me, trying to catch her breath.

Can I tell her that I want to do this alone?

Hardly. She'd be mad. She wouldn't understand that I've just been hiding things from her just to protect her and to let her recover in peace.

I don't have the time to argue. A satellite phone is hidden in one of the closets in my room, switched off all the time. I first have to assemble it, put the SIM card in and the pre-charged battery that I kept beside it.  
Audrey's eyes follow my moves.

Done. I type Chloe's number, the one that I know by heart.

That's the last chance to tell Audrey to leave me alone.  
I look into her eyes, she's standing right in front of me. What look is that, in her eyes? It's not sadness. Is it being afraid? Excitement? It's hard to tell.

 _Do you really want to listen to this?_ , I ask her. What a stupid question. We're in this together. Whatever it is, it will have an effect on her life. I have to stop treating her like a child.

She slightly nods her head yes.

I hit the call button. It rings two times, then Chloe picks up, I guess she already expected my call. No hello's. No names. We agreed on that. Whenever we have to address each other, I'm her 'brother' and she'll be my 'sister'. Funny, how fast the everyday life and way of speaking of the Serbian mafia rubbed off on us.

 _You should move._

 _Why?_

 _They're putting pressure on her husband._

 _How?_

 _They tracked some bank transactions. Could lead to you. You should move._

 _Where?_

 _The holiday lodge._

 _Okay._ I have a brief look at the display. The timer shows 29 seconds. A good time to hang up. No agency is able to trace a 29 seconds long phone call to a certain address. But nevertheless, they could know my approximate area, if they managed to listen - even a 200 miles radius is discomforting me right now.

I disassemble the phone again and break the SIM card into two pieces. In my bag are five more. But I won't use the same number again. So we'll have five more chances to contact Chloe, when we're on on our way.

Audrey still stands there, looking at me.  
I'm not sure how much of the other end of the phone call she has heard. She's not half as shocked as I am. Must mean that she hasn't heard Chloe's voice, saying that the CIA or the White House have started to put pressure on Mark because they found out that he gave me the necessary money to save her.

I should have told her about that, long ago. About so many other things, too. She doesn't even know who's haunting her and why. She doesn't know anything about how I managed to get her out of China. With the help of Belcheck and Igor, guys from the Serbian mafia, financed by me and above all, by Mark.  
A few weeks ago, she was so fragile that I hadn't dared to mention anything from the outside world. Maybe she still sees me as the knight on the white horse who has come to save her... but I'm just a criminal, a haunted person, like her.

During the past week, she really changed. She grew stronger, physically, but also mentally.  
I hope she'll manage to keep up in the coming days, when we'll be on the run. I hope she'll manage hearing the truth and all the details.

 _We better leave this place,_ I quietly tell her.

She nods yes, having already expected me to say something like that.

Chloe told me to got to the _holiday lodge,_ that means going back to Belgrade. I have barely enough cash for the trip, but that's okay. Back in Belgrade, I have one more bank account that I can use. It'll be enough for a year, for Audrey and me.

Damn it. I hate these thoughts. That's just one more thing that keeps gnawing at me during the day and throughout the night. Money. Security. Financing a hidden life was one of the most expensive things at all.

 _You better get some rest.. before we leave after it gets dark,_ I say, and step forward, closer to her. She stands there, immovably, as I softly put my hand on her shoulder. I'd like to say something like 'everything's gonna be okay, I'll take you to a safe place'. But that's the point when I realize: she doesn't even worry about that. It's _me_ who worries about that. She trusts me blindly, but I don't even trust myself right now.  
We'll be on the run for almost a week. We'll need to head through Kazakhstan, then cross the Caspian sea to Azerbaijan because I don't wanna travel through Iran or Russia, we need to head through Armenia, to Turkey, and then it'll be relatively easy to get to Europe. This is the same route that I already took on the way here. There are people along this route who I can contact and who I've already worked with. Igor's net will help us, in exchange for a stack of Dollar bills.

 _We'll be on the road for at least a week,_ I quietly whisper into her hear, step closer, burying my face in her long blonde hair. _Everything will be alright._ I have to say it, to comfort myself, I guess. Giving her my word that I'll take her to a place where everything will be alright is a promise that I make to her here and now - now there is a promise that I have to keep. And I'll do anything to keep it.

Eventually, she leaves me alone and goes back over to her room to rest, while I start packing all our things into three bags. I'll leave quite some things behind. But I have to take all the weapons and a few different sets of clothes, to disguise. We'll cross some countries where at least Audrey can hide easily underneath a burkha.  
I have to get all the weapons that I've hid in various places all over the building. It takes some time. We won't need them any more for a sudden nightly getaway.  
But I'll have to leave one of the two assault rifles behind that Belcheck bought. It's a terrible waste of money, but I can't carry two assault rifles along the way. I'll leave it here, well hidden in a place where it might come in handy for someone out of Igor's net who will also use this convent as a hideaway.

Half an hour later - I'm not even halfway done with packing - there's a knock on my door. Audrey. She doesn't even wait for an answer but comes in.

I'm still crouching in the middle of the room, my weapons laid out on the floor, along with ammunition and clips.

She closes the door behind her, leaning against it, and stars at the armory.  
Does it threaten her to see so many weapons, so close? Does it bring back memories of her captivity? Or memories that tell her who I really am? That I'm not only the man who loves her and who'd do anything for her - that inside me there's a big part that she once called a monster?

Slowly, I stand up again and walk over to her. What the hell is she doing here? She looks restless and she can't even tell me why. I have to guess.

 _Couldn't you sleep?,_ I quietly ask her.

She almost imperceptibly nods her head in agreement. Finally, she takes her eyes off the weapons and looks into mine.

I can see it how much she'd like to speak to me right now, but something still keeps her from doing it.

 _Everything will be alright,_ I whisper, and wipe one of her blonde strands away from her face, softly, until my thumb rests at her cheek.

She doesn't believe me.  
How could she. Even I don't believe my own words. How could she believe me saying that she'll be safe, when there's an armory lying on the floor behind me, one that I bought because I thought we'd need it. The facts shout aloud: danger is expected. Not safety.  
We have a long way to go, until reaching something called 'safety'. I fear we'll never really reach such a place.

Hesitatingly I step closer and take her into my arms. _I'll do everything it takes to keep you safe._

She claws her fingers into the shirt that I'm wearing, as if it was the only thing of me that she can grab and hold.

 _I won't leave you ever again,_ I tell her, and I'm ultimately taken back to that night, two months ago, when we split up on the run from the Chinese prison. _I regretted it so much, having left you...,_ I tell her, and right now I'm not even sure what I'm referencing to. I've left her so many times. Countless times. Every single one is gnawing at my conscience. Faking my death. Being so inattentive to let the Chinese get me. Leaving her though she would have needed me by her side to recover. Giving up on following her, two months ago, leaving her back alone in that cold Chinese river. God only knows what happened to her afterwards. She must have been out there alone for at least three days, before they brought her back. That was the time they were torturing me to make me tell them our escape route. I don't know what they did to her after they got her back. But it must have been something terrible, since she's no longer willing to speak.  
I hold on to her, telling her how sorry I am. I'd like to tell her that I feel like I can never make up for all the pain that I've caused her - and that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it by being there for her. I have a hard time not to burst into tears, simply thinking that thought. I can't tell her that. Not now. It would take us somewhere where we both don't wanna go. She already made that clear, in the past days.

Damn it. But sometimes, the truth just wants to come out.

Her hands are moving... letting go of my shirt, they slowly slide across my chest, up to my neck. She turns her head slightly. Her nose touches my cheek. A second later I feel her lips there.

I feel where she's going. No. I can't do this. No.

She stops somewhere, half way.

Thank god.

Some endless moments, we stay there, immovably. We both know that there's a border somewhere, between us, one that we can't cross, because we can't handle whatever emotion is attached to crossing it.

 _You should get some rest,_ I tell her, after a while, to break the silence. I feel how she slightly nods her head yes.  
She doesn't want to be alone, over in her room, that's probably why she came over. I can understand her.

I lead her over to the bed, pushing a few packs of ammo out of the way as we walk across the room. She lies down and pulls the blanket up to her chin.  
I crouch down next to the bed, waiting until she falls asleep.

But she doesn't even close her eyes. She obviously doesn't want to sleep or rest. Damn it, she'd really need it. We'll be on our way as soon as it gets dark. I have a car ready in the back yard and we'll drive the whole night, then stop somewhere to sleep and drive for one more day.

Expectantly, she stares at me, waiting for me either to say something or continue packing.  
 _You should really get some rest,_ I tell her again, _the way will be long. Five or six days, at least._

That look in her eyes. Finally, I get it, what it means. She doesn't even know where we're going. And somehow, she can't ask.

 _We're going to Belgrade. Serbia,_ I tell her. Her features change. From excitement, to something that I can easily interpret as being disappointed.  
Did she expect me to take her back home, to the U.S.? Most likely.

 _I have a place there, where we'll be safe for a while,_ I say to her, to make her disappointment go away, but it doesn't. I added the 'for a while' not because we wouldn't be safe there forever - the arrangements and precautions that I took when I settled down there are good enough to stay there indefinitely - but because the prospect of staying in Belgrade for the rest of her life seems to be awful for her.  
I wish she could say something. I can't push her. I can't rush her. But it leaves me alone, making decisions regarding her future, her safety, her life, without even hearing her opinion.

 _Do you wanna go home?  
_ Damn it, what a stupid question. Did I really just ask her that?

Instead of clear nod, saying yes, tears start to well in her eyes.

She can't say yes. I guess she remembers now, what 'home' means. I pushed her mind into the one direction that I wanted to shield her from: reality.  
There is no home that she can go back to. Does she even know that? That her father probably wouldn't even recognize her, given the state that he's in? That the man who she's still married to - probably even still loves - sits at home wearing an ankle monitor after being convicted for treason? That the beautiful house that they lived was sold a month ago, that there's nothing left? That she'd be coming back to a rotten two bedroom apartment where he lives because Mark delivered a quarter million to the Serbian mafia to help me finance the mission to rescue her?  
Her whole life fell apart ever since London.

I guess that she figured out at least part of it. Silent tears run down her cheeks.

Hesitatingly I slide a bit closer, put a hand on her shoulder and bow down to her.

 _I just want you to be safe,_ I whisper, hoping to make her terrible thoughts better, _whatever you decide to do in the end, where you wanna be._

It didn't help. Now she's even more teary-eyed than before. God, I don't want to see her like that. I'm desperately searching for something to tell her, something that'll put an end to her tears and make her feel better.  
Does she want to hear that I'm there for her? That I'll always be? I guess she knows that already. Maybe I'm not the solution - maybe I am the problem. Maybe she remembers Mark right now, and she's afraid of telling me. Who knows. I haven't even told her yet what kind of a role he played in her rescue. He risked a lot. He gave a lot. Who am I to deny that. Without his help, I would have never been able to get her out.  
I have to tell her that, one day.  
Not today. I just don't have the heart to do it right now.

I stay there, holding her, until her tears stop.  
There's nothing I could have said to make her feel better. Nothing. I'd love to tell her that she has a future, a life ahead of her that is worth living - but I'm not so sure. She has lost everything already and they're haunting her. She's down at my level now: living from day to day, hoping to stay unseen. This is not a life worth living.

It takes a while until she's finally asleep.

I should pack our things but I stay a few more minutes, just looking at her and stroking over her hair. She can't be torn into such a life. I can't let that happen. I have to find a way to get the CIA and the White House off her back, to let her return home. There must be a way.  
I just can't let her live the life that I have. It's too bad.

.

.


End file.
